All Tied Up
by Maricole
Summary: Rachel is released from jail and the VCTF is re established. The relationship between John and Rachel is off to a rocky start
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Rachel Burke walked out of the prison door, and stood breathing deeply in the early morning sunshine. She couldn't help the prick of tears that swelled suddenly in her eyes, and Peter Kolowsky, her lawyer, put his arm around her, reassuringly.

"I'm so sorry it's taken this long, Agent Burke," he said – "That last lot of information we got on Marks and his affairs, was what clinched the whole matter. Everything then fell into place. The Bureau is very sorry about what happened – you will be fully compensated."

Rachel nodded, not willing to risk saying anything yet, not till she had her emotions back under control, she did not want to break down in front of this man. He kept his arm around her and continued – "Agent Grant put his career on the line when he went after this person," he said – "He refused to back off, when ordered by HQ, and was in an enormous amount of trouble for disobeying a direct order from the top. Grant followed the lead to Washington and managed to get proof of what Marks was up to – he and Malone then got word to me – and I took it from there.

Finally Rachel took a deep breath, and turned to look at Peter. "Well, I guess I have to thank you," she said slowly. "And John Grant, and Bailey Malone. I can't believe that the Agency left me in jail for nearly three months. And yes, they will compensate me, big time!"

"I have set up an appointment for you with the Heads of the Bureau, for tomorrow morning – the panel there want to debrief you and also apologize for what you have been through; also to reassign you. The plane leaves at 9, I'll pick you up at 8."

Rachel nodded once more. "I am in no mood to be pleasant to anyone in authority," she said to the lawyer, as they approached his car. "I hope they don't expect me to be in any way grateful for their apologies – in fact at the moment, I think it would be better if I didn't speak to anyone for a week or two. I might say something they will regret!"

* * *

Bailey was at the airport, when the plane landed, and she rushed into his arms. He fired questions at her wanting to know how she was feeling, and what it was like to be free, and it was bliss for her to be able to look into his stern and craggy face, and to be able to talk to him without a thick pane of glass separating them. He held her hand tightly in the car on the way to Headquarters, still wanting to know if she was going to be able to handle the coming interview, and what she was going to demand.

They were whisked through the reception lobby, and down through the main office, to the very superior looking boardroom, where a trio of very important personages were waiting for them.

The three men introduced themselves; and apologized for her incarceration, and the Bureau's part in it. She was then offered any position she liked, in the F.B.I. that she was qualified for, and told she would be paid for her time in jail, at the premium rate.

She sat there looking back at them, and said nothing for a long time. She had all three of the men in front of her shuffling their feet, before she leant forward to say her piece.

"My demands are simple," she said softly, glancing first at Bailey, then at the lawyer sitting by her side. "I want you three gentlemen to look into why the VCTF was closed. I want an investigation into the Senator that closed us down. I want my old job back, as Profiler, and the old team back together. "

The three men looked at each other, and the gentleman sitting in the middle, who had been elected spokesman, leaned across the table.

"We were expecting something of the sort," he said to Rachel, with a small smile. "We have been tossing around the idea of re opening the VCTF for the last month or so. We have had too many violent and unsolved crimes happening lately – and our resources are stretched without your old department. Agent Malone already has had talks with us on this matter."

Rachel swiveled her eyes around to meet Bailey's dark dark ones, and he smiled at her.

"I didn't want to let on, till we were sure," he said to her, "But hopefully it will happen now."

Rachel took a deep breath. "It should never have been disbanded," she said severely. "What if I had asked for a million dollars as compensation? Actually I'm still considering it. I am absolutely furious over what happened."

The men smiled pleadingly at her. "Agent Malone was sure you would be pushing for the VCTF," said the spokesman. "It will take us another month, to get the whole package together – in that time you are on leave, fully paid of course. Once again, we are sorry that the Department did not back you up in your time of trouble – rest assured the slackers around the place have been given their marching orders – and we sincerely hope that nothing like this will ever happen to one of our operatives again!"

Rachel sat back in her chair, stunned. She smiled at Bailey; then turned back to the panel.

"I am still angry at what happened to me," she said. "But this is a start, I suppose."

An hour later she and Bailey and Peter were sitting in a café, drinking Irish coffees, and Bailey was smoking a cigar.

"For the first time in a long time, I feel confident about the future," said Bailey, leaning back in his chair and blowing smoke out of his mouth in a long stream. "I tried so hard to get things back the way they were, but I seemed to be going in circles."

Rachel looked up at the overcast sky, and smiled.

"I am going to spend a week or so at home, catching up with friends. And doing nothing. I'm going sleep late, and eat whatever I like, and watch television, and listen to really loud music!" she closed her eyes and lifted her face to the heavens, and Bailey and Peter exchanged wry glances.

"I am so very sorry," Bailey said again, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "I would have given anything for that whole scenario not to have happened!"

A month later, and they were operational again.

George had spent the last two weeks in the operations center, programming the computers and hovering over the updated systems, Bailey tracking down his back up staff, while Grace and Rachel had all been holidaying in various parts of the country, and John overseas.

Rachel had not yet had a chance to catch up with John, since she had been released from jail, and was looking forward with reservations, to seeing him again – she had spent a lot of time thinking about him whilst in prison, and wondering what would have happened to their working relationship, if the whole Marks thing had never happened. After a very rocky start, they had actually started to like one another and work really well as a team, and John had gone way out on a limb in clearing her name, but she had not heard from or seen him in 3 months. He had been there for her when Danny died, and she had sat with him for hours, while he grieved for Kate. They were just starting to look at each other in a different light, when everything had blown up in her face, as she was sent to jail. She knew she owed him a big 'thank you' – but was hoping that their meeting again would not be awkward, or revert to what it had originally been, with its sniping and bitching at each other.

She arrived early, the day the VCTF was officially re-opened, and sat in her clean smelling office, with the new computer and desk, and comfortable, ergonomically correct chair, still smelling of paint and chemicals, and closed her eyes in silent thanks, that her world was finally back to normal.

"Asleep on the job already?" came a voice next to her ear, and she opened her eyes with a jump, to look up at John, who was grinning down at her. He looked fit, tanned, and his eyes were very bright blue. An answering smile crept over her face, and she stood up, and flung herself into his arms.

"I haven't been able to thank…" she began, and he pulled away from her, looking intently at her, still grinning.

"Don't start thanking me," he said, "You got the team back together. We should all be thanking you."

"John, let me do this," she said, trying to look stern. "You went to extreme lengths to get me released, I need to thank you," and she leaned up, and kissed him on his closely shaven cheek. He started to say something, but she kept on talking over the top of what he was going to say.

"You were amazing, and I want you to know how grateful I am," she said, "Especially as we had never been all that close." The words she wanted to say came out all wrong.

He pulled away from her again, the smile dying from his face, the light fading out of his eyes, turning them blue/gray.

"That's right," he said, almost stiffly. "I'd better go and say hello to the others," and he walked away, leaving her staring after him in puzzlement, feeling guilty because she couldn't say what she wanted to him, and what she had said sounded rude, and almost patronizing.

Bailey called every one into the ops room, for a welcome back first morning chat – and to introduce the newcomers to the rest of the team. There were two new agents starting and another returning, whom Rachel had never met, but she could see by the amount of back slapping and hugging going on, that the rest of the team knew the bald, handsome dark man that came over to shake her hand.

"I'm Marcus," he said to her, his handshake firm, "I've been over with the ATF for the past three years, but when I heard the VCTF was being reformed, I had to come back."

"Well, we knew it couldn't be all good," said John lounging back in his chair, and Rachel glanced over at him in surprise at his tone, but Marcus smiled.

"Its good to see you too John, I'm surprised you managed to stay out of jail." he replied, and John grinned back at him. Marcus looked back in concern to Rachel, and put his hand over his mouth. "Oh God, I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't think – I hope I didn't offend you, I certainly didn't mean to."

"Same old Marcus," said John, still grinning. "Just opens his mouth to change feet."

Rachel reluctantly smiled, and turned back to Marcus. "No, you didn't offend me, I'm glad everyone here knows the story, so it doesn't have to be retold all the time. And I too, am surprised that John manages to stay out of trouble. With a lot of help from his friends, of course,"

"Things have changed then," said Marcus quickly, "He never used to have any."

John protested, and George laughed. "There was never a dull moment, when John and Marcus were partners, they used to argue more than you and John do, Rachel."

"I have a feeling we are going to be friends then, Marcus," said Rachel, and he laughed and nodded. John made a face at Rachel, behind her back, and Grace leaned over the desk and swatted at him with her hand.

"Behave yourself," she said to him. He ducked his head; then turned to slant a grin at her.

"Sorry Mom," he said cheekily, and Grace narrowed her eyes, looking at him speculatively.

"Your behavior hasn't improved," she said, and he took her hand and kissed the back of it in mock humility.

She pulled her hand out of his in exasperation. "It feels like we have never been away," she said with a laugh. "You never change. Or grow up - And I'm glad," she added, in a softened tone, leaning forward, and giving him a hug.

Rachel looked over towards where they were sitting, and watched the byplay between them a little pensively. She wondered why her own relationship with John seemed always to be so strained, even after they had sorted out the embarrassment of Marks' accusations.

Their first day was spent getting reacquainted with the staff for the department, the researchers and back up people, who were so valuable to the team, and worked so hard in the background. They also pored over old files, and were brought up to speed with the latest crimes that would soon be their whole focus.

It was good to catch up on some of the people she hadn't seen for a while, and everyone was glad to see her, out of jail and especially glad to be back working with a viable department. She was thrilled to discover that she had been assigned a research assistant/secretary, and even more thrilled when realized that she knew her already, from Quantico. So when her office door opened, and an attractive young woman walked in, Rachel stood up in delight, and hugged her.

"Donna, I can't believe you were assigned to be my assistant," she said, as the pretty brunette hugged her back.

"I know, isn't it great, I was thrilled when they asked me if I wanted to come out here, and work with you again," replied Donna. "I've known for about the last month, that we would be working together again."

"I can't believe it," repeated Rachel, "So you've moved here to Atlanta?"

"Yes," came the reply, "I really had nothing to stay for – you know that Michael and I broke up? This offer came at just the right time for me – a new and fresh start."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," said Rachel, making sympathetic noises. "Are you all right? What happened – you and Michael seemed so right together."

"Maybe we can have a drink together after work, and I'll fill you in on all the sordid details," replied Donna, grimacing slightly. "And you can fill me in on your love life."

Rachel grimaced and rolled her eyes. "The full and detailed story of my love life wouldn't fill the blank side of a postage stamp," she said, slightly bitterly. "A couple of flings, a one night stand, that's about it. I get pretty caught up in my work – I don't really seem to have enough time for much of a social life. And of course there's that whole 3 months in jail thing, being locked up with lots of other frustrated women! That doesn't do wonders for an almost nonexistent love life!"

"So no cute guys working here then?" asked Donna, with a glint of mischief in her eyes.

"Definitely not," replied Rachel emphatically, and at that moment there was a loud knock at her door, and John walked in. He stopped when he saw Donna, and then apologized for interrupting.

"I just thought I'd tell you, that Marcus, George and I are heading over to the bar, in about half and hour, if you want to join us for a drink," he said, flashing a smile at Donna and lifting one eyebrow. Rachel nodded, looking from John, to Donna, who was staring back at him with her mouth slightly open.

"John, this is Donna Hastings, she is my research assistant. Donna, this is John. He's …he's… he is err, he's one of the agents," said Rachel, and John turned to Donna, smiling again at her, and bowed slightly. "He's delighted to meet you," he said, flicking a glance back at Rachel, "And you are welcome to join us for a drink, if you feel you could take meeting the whole disreputable bunch of us at the same time."

Donna goggled at him, quite unable to say anything, and Rachel shooed him out of her office, saying that they may turn up at the bar; depending on how early she could leave.

As the door shut behind him, Donna turned back to Rachel, her eyes still wide.

"No cute guys, huh?" she said, and Rachel made a small gesture of denial, and sat down on her chair.

"John and I clash a little," was all she said bleakly, and Donna turned to look out of the window, down into the control center, where John was leaning against a desk, talking to George, his expressive face lighting up in a wide smile.

"So – that guy – is he attached or involved with anyone?" she asked, and Rachel rolled her eyes.

"Not that I know of, not now," she replied, a little reluctantly.

"So it's open season then?" asked Donna, still watching John through the window. "I mean, I wouldn't be treading on your toes, if I tried a little inter office fishing? You know, if I bait the hook, and see if I can get a bite?"

Rachel didn't answer her straight away, and she turned back to look at her friend.

"Well – is he fair game?" she asked again, and Rachel smiled a little ironically, wondering why she was feeling a little uncomfortable.

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Rachel replied a little stiffly, "But remember this is where we both work. Sometimes these office affairs cause more trouble than they are worth."

Donna laughed. "Hey, the guy hasn't even looked at me properly yet. And here you are talking about affairs. I'm talking about a little flirting – that's all. You have to admit he's very cute."

Rachel snorted rather inelegantly, and shrugged her shoulders.

"Whatever turns you on, I suppose," she said, "As I said before, John and I tend to clash a little. And cute is the last adjective I'd use in conjunction with him."

Donna looked at her in a speculative manner, and then changed the subject, asking about what her duties would involve, wondering why Rachel seemed so defensive. It was unusual behavior for her friend, and something she was looking forward to exploring in the future.

Rachel explained that a lot of her work would be research, and took her off to introduce her to the other staff members, especially Grace, who would also be utilizing her researching abilities.

She couldn't believe how quickly the first day passed, and by the end of it, they were called into the control center, and briefed by Bailey, about a series of murders that had occurred, and the team swung into action as if there had never been a break.

The first murder was of a young man, early 30's who was found brutally murdered in a back ally in the downtown area.

"He was reported missing by his wife several days ago, and turned up dead this morning," said George, his hands flying over his keyboard, and producing, up on the big screen, the driver's license photo of a man. Bailey looked over at Rachel and then across at John, and nodded slightly.

"Well, lets go," was all he said, and headed out towards the elevator. John grabbed his suit jacket, and followed, with Rachel close behind.

They were back!


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

It seemed as though they had never been away. Rachel found Marcus to be friendly and extremely valuable in his contacts, and was happy that he had rejoined the team, as John continued to be a little off-hand with her, as she was with him. Marcus provided a buffer as he spent a lot of time swapping sarcasms with John.

She thought she would settle down more quickly than she had, and wondered a few times whether she would have been better off talking to the psychiatrist that the department had tried to force her to go and see. She knew she was holding onto a lot of unresolved anger, she could sometimes feel it simmering beneath the surface, but was now so used to reining in her emotions that she felt it would be an admission of weakness to request help or counseling in any form. She held off, withdrawing a little into herself, and was unaware that both Grace and Bailey were watching her with anxious eyes.

The first murder was very complicated, both she and John had been out several times to interview relatives and witnesses, sitting stiffly next to each other in the car, and not saying a word, except in relation to the case, their relationship deteriorating with every outing. Finally, but unfortunately not before another murder, Rachel managed to link the background of one victim to a gang, and they were able to trace a common thread, which lead the team to an unused warehouse, being used as a 'club house' by a gang with murder as an initiation.

Bailey directed John towards the back of the building, whilst he and Marcus, with Rachel close behind, approached from the front.

" FBI" roared Marcus, thumping on the wooden door, that had a remarkably new looking lock, considering the age of the door, and the state of the building behind it. Bailey and Marcus exchanged grim looks, and hearing scuffling noises coming from inside, Marcus launched at the door, and kicked it open.

There were two men both trying to bolt for the back exit, Marcus and Bailey both leveled their guns, and called for them to stop, but Rachel looked past the two frozen pair, out of the window and saw another running swiftly across the tarmac at the back of the warehouse.

"On the floor," barked Bailey, and the two terrified young men dropped and lay on the floor, both of them stuttering that they knew nothing.

Rachel ran out of the back door, in time to see John racing across the area, following the runner, who had jumped over a low fence, and was disappearing around the corner, and onto a busy road. She dashed back inside, and grabbed Bailey, leaving Marcus to guard the two on the ground, she and Bailey jumped into the car, and reversed out of the abandoned car park, to follow the chase.

It took Bailey a little while to turn back onto the main road, and already neither John nor the runner were in sight, but a lucky turn much further on brought them into view, the man lying on the ground, and John standing over him, both of them panting hard having run a long way at top pace.

The car came to a screeching halt, and John looked over at them, still trying to catch his breath.

"A little unfit are we?" murmured Rachel, as he non-too gently shoved the other man in the back of the car, and climbed in beside him.

John rolled his eyes. "You try running that far, that fast, with no warm up, and not wearing running shoes," he said to her, between gasps.

The backup police car had arrived, and they returned to pick up Marcus and his two prisoners, then headed back to headquarters, so the trio could be interrogated.

As it turned out, Rachel's hunch had been right, and the man broke down, confessing to arranging the murders. It was their first successful case since re-opening, and Bailey was extremely happy.

As they all gathered in the control room to wind the case up and de-brief, Bailey stood up and asked if he could have their attention.

"I'd like to congratulate the team on such a speedy conclusion," he said, and everyone looked around the table, grinning at each other. "The next thing is – the Police and Law Enforcement Agencies annual ball is on next Saturday night. Over the last few years, for some reason or another, the VCTF has been absent, usually because we are caught up in work. I'd like for at least half of the team to attend this year – I will be going, and I'd like you to come too, Rachel and John at least – and Grace and George if you can get a baby sitter for the night, Grace – I think its important that we stay in 'view' so to speak. Marcus, I'll need you to stay back here, and hold the fort, hopefully nothing too screamingly urgent will pop up before then."

Marcus nodded and John looked over to Bailey. "Are we bringing partners?" he asked, and Rachel slanted a glance at him through narrowed eyes.

Bailey thought for a moment, and then shook his head.

"I hate to pull rank," he said with a slight smile, "That would be a no on the partners though. However – I am taking someone."

Rachel felt a frisson of anger – she was sure that John asked about the partners because he knew she would have been unable to come up with someone on such short notice, and that he made that comment to throw it in her face. But as quickly as the emotion came, it vanished, and she shrugged her shoulders telling herself to stop being so touchy.

"It's pretty formal, I think," replied Grace. "We all went several years ago, when Sam was given an award. – She took Chloe and Angel that night, if you remember."

"I remember," said Bailey pensively, "Sam took the afternoon off, and had her hair done."

"She looked absolutely beautiful that night," said George, with a wry smile.

"She always looked beautiful," said John sighing, and looking over at Rachel, under his eyelashes.

Rachel stiffened, wondering why John's words implied an insult, but looked at Bailey, once again swallowing her anger. "Does that mean that Grace and I can have the afternoon off, and get our hair done?" she asked.

"No – You're not getting an award," said John in a provocative manner, and Grace stood up, and flipped the file she was carrying across the back of his head, as she walked out.

He ducked, and laughed at her, and she shook her head threateningly at him.

Rachel stood up also and turned to go into her office, and after a moment Grace followed her.

"Are you o.k.?" she asked as she came into the office and shut the door. Rachel sat down in her chair, and looked up at Grace with innocent eyes.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well you seem a little tense," said Grace, sitting down opposite her.

Rachel smiled grimly, and shook her head. "I'm fine," she said, looking down at her fingernails. Just a bit tired. Glad we managed to get that man, before he murdered again."

"Yeah well, as I've said before, you get one idiot, and two others jump up to take his place. You sure there's nothing we can talk about?"

Rachel shook her head again. "I'm fine," she repeated and Grace leant forward across the desk.

"Rachel, don't bottle up all your emotions," she said in a serious voice. "You need to talk to someone about what happened. Otherwise the pressure will just build up and you will explode and do something really stupid and over the top. You'll just react to something in a completely inappropriate way. Or else, it can seriously affect your health!"

Rachel returned her gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about." She said, still inspecting her fingernails. "I don't bottle up my emotions."

Grace sighed. "O.K. – but remember, I'm your friend, and I can see something is wrong. There is no shame in talking to someone about what happened to you. It was traumatic, horrible and humiliating."

"I don't need a psychologist or anyone else," snapped Rachel, finally looking up. "I've put the whole thing behind me – "

Grace nodded and stood up. "Well, you know where I am if you want to talk," she said.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 4

As Rachel left the office for the night, she walked past the control room, and saw Donna sitting on a desk, swinging her legs and talking to John. As she got closer, they burst out into laughter, and Rachel stiffened and kept walking. Donna saw her, and called out a friendly greeting, and sticking a smile on her face, she turned around and went down the few steps to where they were.

"Congratulations on getting that guy," said Donna, "You are so clever."

Rachel grimaced, and John looked up at her, from his lounging position in his chair. For a moment their eyes met, and it seemed as though he was going to say something to her, but at the last minute didn't.

"Rachel is always very clever," he said tonelessly, and Rachel didn't reply, not sure if he was being sarcastic or not, and wondering why being called clever equated in her mind with being called dull.

"Are you off home?" inquired Donna, hopping off the desk, and showing a good amount of thigh as she did so. "We are going for a drink – why don't you join us?"

"No," replied Rachel quickly, "I've got a mountain of reading to get through tonight – I'll catch you tomorrow." And she walked off, wondering when Donna had become so friendly with John, and wondering why she felt so empty.

She looked up at the night sky, as she drove home, it was heavy with rain clouds, overcast and almost brooding looking, as she smiled grimly to herself, ever the weather seemed to be mirroring her moods.

Their next major case had already put the department on alert, and the next morning Bailey called the team into the control center for a briefing.

"We have a couple of situations that have developed overnight," he started off by saying, and indicated to George to display the photographs he handed over on the large screen.

The first photograph was of a little boy, perhaps four years old, smiling widely into the camera lens, holding a fluffy white toy rabbit.

"This is Christopher Jacobson, he was kidnapped yesterday by two people who forced their way into his parent's home. The Jacobson's are fairly wealthy, but there has been no demand made as yet."

Grace closed her eyes for a moment, the little boy looked to be about the same age as her son Jason.

"Poor, poor little boy," she whispered. "Poor, poor parents. But why would we be called in?"

"This is the second abduction in the last 3 months, with a very similar MO. The first child was killed, even though the ransom was paid. Also Christopher's father works for a large corporation that supplies software to some of the government departments."

George flashed another picture up onto the screen. They all stared up at the little girl, hair in two pigtails, with ribbons trailing, her smile wide and beaming, showing two front teeth missing. Then next to it, the police photograph of the same little girl, her body broken and lifeless, and each of the team felt the same amount of anger and helplessness.

"Sarah Cleland. Her body was found 5 days after the ransom was paid," was all George said.

Marcus slammed his fist down on the table, and swore under his breath, while Grace turned her face away from the screen. They were used to seeing bodies of murdered people, but it was always worse when children were involved.

John dropped his eyes and looked down at the pencil in his hands, twirling it around and around, and biting the inside of his bottom lip, while Rachel felt her anger boil up again.

"I would like to talk to the parents, if possible," she said to Bailey, "and also to the parents of the little girl who was killed, if they feel they can."

"You and Marcus can go and interview Christopher's parents now – they are expecting us. – I will try and set up an interview with Sarah's parents. While you two are doing that, John and I have another case to look at. There has been a very brutal murder right here on our doorstep, a young woman has been hacked to pieces and left all over the main downtown area. The police want us in on this, this is the second body found in two weeks, brutalized in exactly the same way. Let's get going team, and earn those huge salaries that the government is paying us!"

With a sarcastic laugh, everyone dispersed, to their particular destinations, and Grace to her lab to await the murdered girl's body.

Rachel and Marcus talked to the parents of the kidnapped boy, going over every detail as minutely as possible, and then talking to the staff and the other people involved, cross checking police information. Then Rachel talked to the father of the first kidnap victim, the little girl who had been murdered, and tried to glean as much information as she could from his heartbroken account.

When she finally got back to the 'office' George was already busy, comparing statements and checking background information on everyone connected to the kidnappings, the parents, friends and staff. Rachel and Marcus sat down in the control room, and began picking out pieces of their puzzle that they felt would be useful to look into, aware that every second that ticked by could be the last for the little boy.

They had not been back for very long when a phone call informed them that a ransom note had been received by the parents, along with the standard threats not to go to the police.

"Bit late for that now," grunted Marcus, as Rachel continued to speak on the phone.

He watched her shake her head, and put down the receiver.

"The father wants us to stay away now," she said. "He thinks the place may have been watched. It's a good thing we took that mobile phone in for them to use."

"What are we going to do now?" asked Marcus, picking up his coffee cup.

"Wait and see if George comes up with anything," replied Rachel sighing. "There has to be a connection between the two families, whether social or work related. The circumstances are too similar for it to be coincidental."

Bailey and John joined them, both of them looking a little discouraged.

"We've come up with nothing so far," said Bailey, "Have you found anything in your investigations?"

"I've got George doing some digging for me," said Rachel, holding her ever-present coffee cup. "I've got a feeling that somehow, there must be a connection!"

"Yes," said George suddenly. "Look at this, the gardener that has been employed by the Jacobson's for the last 12 months – an Irwin McNeil, lives with his girlfriend, who recently worked for the Clelands as a maid. She left just before the daughter was kidnapped."

Bailey looked up at the screen, at the picture of the man displayed there.

'Its worth checking out," he said, "George, do we have an address?"

"Yes," replied George, his fingers flying over his keyboard. "I've been looking into his background a little. Looking up his family for a start. This sounds interesting - Irwin McNeil also has a sister, whose husband has just taken out a lease on an old factory building, over on Chapel Street. It backs onto the old Fletcher Creek drainage canal. It might be worth looking into."

"Good work Georgie," said Bailey. "Rachel, you are with me – John, Marcus you follow in the other car. Let's go and check this building out."

The factory was in an old and semi desolate industrial area, surrounded by other run down factories, many of them empty, and backed onto a very large concrete canal, that was half full of churned muddy, oily water and other unidentifiable objects, swirling around, and swollen due to the recent heavy rains.

Bailey and Rachel entered the factory from the front, while John and Marcus looked for a side entrance. It was dark and eerie inside the old factory, much of the ancient machinery was still in place, dusty and cobwebby, with sharp angles and corners sticking out here and there, and some of the inside was falling down, internal walls with holes and doors missing.

A sudden sound of sobbing came from over their heads, and Marcus sprinted towards an old staircase that led to the upper story, but the sound of running footsteps clambering down in another section sent Rachel and John running towards the rear of the factory.

Dodging the debris that was lying everywhere, and trying not to fall through some of the large holes in the floor, John made it to the rear door, and threw his weight against it trying to force the lock. Bailey called to Marcus, and then the three of them smashed and kicked the door down, and sprinted out only to see a man holding a terrified child trying to run along the muddy top of the canal. He stopped when he realized that he was being chased, and turned to face them. Bailey sent Marcus back with an urgent hand gesture, while he and Rachel and John advanced to within shouting distance.

"Put the child down," called Bailey, as the man in an agitated fashion began holding the little boy out over the rushing waters in the canal.

"Stay back – stay away from me," screamed the man – who they were able to identify as McNeil. The little boy was crying, kicking his legs and struggling wildly.

"Put the child down" repeated Bailey, taking a cautious step forwards, but McNeil held the child out further over the filthy muddy water, so Bailey stepped back immediately.

"Don't make this more difficult for yourself," Bailey said, "Give the child to me, and then we can talk."

"Well, I'm not going to jail," screamed McNeil. "I'll kill myself and the kid before that happens." He tucked Christopher tightly under one arm, and pulled a gun out of his pocket with his free hand. Christopher's sobs became muffled as his head was pressed tightly against McNeil's side. His legs kicked with more urgency as the cruel grip tightened.

Marcus suddenly appeared in the distance behind McNeil, and to keep his attention away from the fact, Rachel started to edge forward.

"Mr. McNeil," she called. "Let me have the little boy. You can keep your gun – just let the child go. Please."

For a long moment, McNeil hesitated, then Marcus tripped over an old car tire, hidden in the grass, and McNeil swung around, and realized he was being cornered. Bailey and John both rushed forward, but McNeil took one step forward, and clutching the child, dropped over the side, and into the rushing torrent.

"Shit," said John, and throwing off his suit jacket and kicking off his shoes, slid straight in after them.

Bailey grabbed his mobile phone and began calling for back up – and an ambulance, whilst Rachel began running along the top of the canal, trying to see where the little boy and or John had gone.

She saw John's dark head emerge from the slimy water, and began looking frantically for the child. Then as she watched, she saw McNeil surface and strike out for the opposite side of the canal, and at the same time Marcus began sprinting towards a small footbridge in the distance. Her heart was pounding and her throat was tight and dry, and she found she couldn't even see properly any more. As if to compound the whole scene, the rain came tumbling down once more, sleeting across the muddy walkway, and bouncing down on the already turbulent surface of the canal.

John tried to shake the water out of his face, and frantically tried to regain his foothold, but the bottom of the canal was thick with slippery mud, and the current was fairly strong. Although the water was not all that deep, probably about 5' or so, he couldn't keep his feet, and so trying to swim and float as best he could, he looked around desperately for Christopher.

He looked up and realized he had already been swept quite a way down the canal, Rachel and Bailey were a long way back, and then suddenly he saw a little blonde head appear right next to him, so he lunged forward and grabbed the little boy, just as he was about to go under again.

The child struck out at him in fear, but John grabbed and held him close, shouting to be heard above the noise of the water.

"Christopher, don't struggle. I am here to help you."

The little boy ignored him, and continued to strike out, kicking John in the chest, causing him to loosen his hold. John lunged forward, and grabbed the child again, before he could go under.

"I am a policeman. I've come to take you home," he said again, and the little boy stopped struggling, grabbed John around the neck, holding on as tightly as he could.

"O.K. listen to me Christopher," he shouted, above the torrent. "We have to get back to that side of the canal – I need you to hang on very tight. Can you do that?" The terrified child didn't answer, just clung even tighter, and John prized his fingers off his neck, and pulled the child around to face him.

"I need you to be brave. " he said to the little boy "I want you to hang on to these straps, and don't let go." He threaded the child's hands through the straps of his shoulder holster, which luckily he was wearing, as he spoke. "Now hang on – " and he plunged across through the muddy water, and allowed the current to pull him forward, but also across, till he managed to reach the side. The force of the water kept pushing him off his feet, and forward, but eventually he managed to brace his hip against the concrete side of the canal, where the bottom of the footbridge pylon joined it, and turning his back to the tide of filthy water rushing towards him, took the sobbing little boy back into his arms.

"Christopher, are you hurting anywhere?" he asked, and the child buried his head in John's shoulder, shaking with cold and still coughing out muddy water, but seemingly otherwise unhurt. John winced as an old pallet slammed into his back, then floated past, and looked up the sides of the canal, to see if anyone could help him.

The rain continued to fall heavily, sliding down the concrete sides of the canal, turning them slick and slippery, John doubted if he would be able to climb up even if he wasn't encumbered by the terrified child.

It seemed like ages that he had to brace himself to stop being pulled out into the rush of water, finally Bailey appeared above him, and then a few minutes later two policemen sent down a length of rope, and he attached it around his waist, talking quietly and calmly the whole time to the frightened little boy, explaining that they were going to be pulled up and out of the canal, and telling him once again, to hold on tightly.

It took a lot of effort on his part, he was surprised how much feeling he had lost in his legs, but he managed to partially climb and partially be pulled up the slippery side of the canal, and was helped over the side by the two rescue policemen, where he collapsed on the grass verge, gasping for breath and coughing up filthy water. There was an ambulance standing by, and the attendants came to take Christopher, but he clung to John, crying and refused to go with them, until John made his way over to the vehicle as well.

The rain had finally stopped, and John began shivering in his wet clothes, as the wind cut through to his skin. He accepted a blanket gladly and wrapped it around himself, and managed to wrap one around Christopher, but the little boy still clung to him, and became very upset when John tried to put him into the ambulance, so John eventually climbed in with him, out of the wind, and sat waiting for Christopher's parents.

Rachel approached the vehicle; she was also wet, from standing in the rain, and peered in at John sitting on the stretcher bed, holding the crying child.

He looked up and grinned at her, raising one eyebrow. "Look," he said happily, "We got him, safe and sound. If a little damp."

Rachel stared at John. It was doubtful he had ever looked worse, covered in mud and scum, streaked with oil and soaking wet, and still shivering occasionally from the cold. She smiled back at him, a weight lifting off her heart to see that the little boy was safe.

"Is he O.K," she asked John, smiling at the little boy. "Are you? I mean, apart from being wet?"

"Yes he's good, aren't you Chris," he said, looking down at the blonde head. "I'm fine – just cold, and I'm pretty sure I've ruined these clothes. I can't wait to have a shower, and wash some of this filth off though! Did Marcus manage to catch McNeil?"

"Yes, so it's been a good day, all round," replied Rachel. Bailey came up to stand next to her.

"Christopher's parents should be here any minute," he said. "Are you hurt - Do you need to go to the hospital for anything?" he asked John, who shook his head.

Christopher had stopped his sobbing, he clung to John and kept his head buried in John's chest, only showing any sort of animation when the ambulance officer tried to take him, so John shook his head, and held the child a little tighter.

"Give him a minute, to calm down," he said, "I think he's o.k. – just terrified."

The ambulance officer nodded, and moved a little away, and John turned to Bailey and Rachel.

"I'll just borrow this blanket and come back with you, if you will wait for a few minutes," he told them. "I just need a shower, and some dry clothes. I've got a spare set of clothes in my car. Did you get my jacket and shoes?"

At that moment a police car with sirens screaming came screeching up, and a young blonde woman came running up to the ambulance, crying and laughing all at once.

"Chris, oh Chris," she sobbed, and tried to prize the child away from John. At first he wouldn't look at her, but finally when he did, he began to cry again, and launched himself into his mother's arms. John backed out of the ambulance, and the mother took his place, holding her child in her arms, and crying tears of joy. She mouthed a thank-you at John, who smiled back at her, and winked at the little boy.

"I'll see you later," he murmured to them, and turned to get into Bailey's car, still wrapped in the blanket.

"How great is that," he said in amazement, a few moments later as the warmth gradually seeped into his body. "It's not often we get such a good and quick result."

Bailey looked at him in the rear vision mirror.

"You are sure you're O.K.?" he asked, "No cuts or gashes?"

"I'm not bleeding all over your car, if that's what you mean," replied John lightly, "Nor is anything broken. I am making your seat fairly wet and muddy though. Sorry."

Bailey laughed, "As if that matters," he said. "I am just so pleased we got the child. A result like that makes everything worthwhile."

"Yes," said John, "Even a swim in a filthy creek, on a cold day like today!"

Rachel also turned to look at John, and smiled at him. For the first time in ages, she felt the knot of anxiety in her chest loosen, and she could almost feel and act like her old self.

"I'm really glad it was you that went for that swim, and not me," she said teasingly to him, and he grinned back at her, wiping some of the mud off his face, and transferring it to the back of his hand.

"Yuk," he said, shivering again. "I can't wait for a shower."


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 5

John grabbed his sports bag out of the boot of his car, and followed Bailey and Rachel into the elevator. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of wet clothing, and the mud and filth that coated him.

"Thank God I've stopped dripping," he said.

"You don't smell too good," said Bailey, with a small smile, playing around his mouth.

"I have to admit even your aftershave smells better than that stuff," added Rachel in agreement.

"Eau de Filthy Creek. I don't think it will take off, " replied John.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, he headed straight for the men's bathroom, and locked himself in the shower cubicle, and stripped off his muddy, filthy wet clothes. Turning the hot water on to the maximum, he stepped under the shower, and closed his eyes for a moment in bliss, as the hot water sluiced over his skin. A moment later he flinched, as the hot water found a sore spot on his back, and he remembered something slamming into him while he was holding Christopher in the rushing water.

However soon the hot running water soothed him, and he grabbed his shampoo and soap and began scrubbing himself from head to toe to get rid of the oily scum that he could feel coating him.

He stood there for ages, letting the heat seep back into his body, enjoying the feel of the hot water.

Eventually he heard a thump on the door, and George's voice.

"I hope you haven't washed yourself away in there," George called to him, and he reluctantly shut the water off, and grabbed his towel. He rubbed himself dry fairly briskly, and flinched again as the towel caught on the sore spot on his back. He wrapped it around his lean waist, and opened the shower cubicle door.

George was washing his hands at the row of sinks, and looked up at John.

"Wrong weather for a swim, my friend," was all George said, and John wrinkled his nose at him.

"Can you see if I have a mark or bruise on my back?" he asked, turning around, and George walked over to him, then he felt George's hand touch his back in a hesitant manner, and he flinched again.

"Oh yes, do you have a bruise, and a graze" George said "And I think there are some splinters or something in there as well."

John tried to look over his shoulder, but was unable to twist his body far enough around.

"Yeah, something ran into me, in the water," he said. "I didn't really feel it, till I got in the shower. Bugger."

"Grace will probably be able to get the splinters out," said George. "I'll try and catch her for you, before she leaves. Don't forget she knocks off early on  
Wednesdays"

John nodded, and turned away, grabbing his sports bag, and burrowing for something to wear, glad that he always carried spare clothing – this was not the first time he had returned to the VCTF in wet or dirty clothing.

Grace was sitting in the canteen with Rachel and Donna, drinking coffee; they had discussed the wonderful news about the foiled kidnapping, and had now progressed to talking about Grace's two little boys.

She was telling the others that her 7-month-old son had just cut his fourth tooth, and the sleepless night she had had because of it when George joined them.

"Talking about my namesake?" he asked, proudly, "What's the little genius been doing?"

"Something very clever, cutting teeth," she laughed and stood up. "Speaking of them, I must go."

"Can you spare 5 minutes to have a look at John?" he asked, and three pairs of female eyes swiveled towards him.

"Why, what's wrong?" demanded Grace, preparing to follow George immediately, and both Rachel and Donna also stood up, with the intention of following as well.

George shook his head, "It's nothing serious, just a few splinters," he said, "You needn't panic. You would probably be the best person to get them out, that's all. But I guess Jersey could do it, if you have to go."

"I thought he told Bailey he didn't get hurt," said Grace, heading back towards her office.

"Yes, he did," said Rachel.

"He's not hurt – as such," said George. "He's got a few splinters in his back, that's all. No big deal. He didn't even realize himself, till I saw them while he was dressing."

John was leaning in the doorway to Bailey's office as they approached, wearing jeans and a tee shirt, looking a lot more casual than he usually did in his expensive suits. Grace came up to him quickly, and grabbed his arm.

"Come with me," she said shortly, and glanced into the office at Bailey. "I'm just taking John to my office to look at his back," she said, and Bailey got to his feet frowning.

"What's the matter? Are you hurt? You said you were O.K.," he said to John, who blinked in surprise at his tone, and pulled his arm out of Grace's hold.

"It's nothing," he said, looking from one to another, "Something hit me while I was in the water – it left a bruise and a few splinters, no need to call 911," he said sarcastically.

Grace opened her office door, and indicated the examination table. John took off his tee shirt, and sat down on it, watching her go to the sink and wash her hands.

She stood behind him, and he felt her gentle touch, but still flinched a little when she touched a particularly tender spot. Bailey had followed them into Grace's office, and he walked over to Grace, watching her examine the area.

"Lie down, and I'll be able to get those splinters," said Grace, and John swung his legs up on the table, and lay on his stomach, resting his head on his forearms.

"It's nothing much," Grace continued, as she began assembling long nosed tweezers, and other assorted tools.

"Oh thank God," said John, "Do you think I'll live?"

He glanced over at Bailey, who looked back at him with laughter in his dark eyes, then screwed up his face, as Grace attacked the first splinter.

"Ouch," he said, lifting his head, and glaring at her, and she smiled.

"Don't be a baby," she chided him, pushing him back down. "Only two more to go."

"I think I will call 911," said John in a muffled tone, as he lay back down. "I think you are enjoying this too much."

Grace laughed at him, and gently maneuvered the tweezers into the optimum position to pry the other splinters out.

* * *

George was sitting back at his computer, when Rachel wandered down the steps and sat down in the seat next to him. He turned and smiled at her, once again congratulating her on a successful conclusion to the kidnapping case, and she smiled back at him, genuinely happy for the first time since her arrest.

"How is the other case coming along?' she asked, "Have you any leads yet?'

"Not yet," replied George. "Bailey and John have done a sweep of the area where this girl's body was found, but haven't been able to turn up much yet, we are waiting for Grace's report, and forensics. They did identify her, though. She was a prostitute, a sex worker – so the possibilities are probably endless."

Rachel leaned over, and picked up a file that had been sitting on the table, and began flicking through it, becoming absorbed in the contents.

She looked up when Grace reappeared, followed by Bailey, and then John, still straightening out his tee shirt. He looked up, caught her eye, and winked at her, and she felt herself smile back.

"Well, will you live?" asked George, picking up a peppermint to suck.

"Yes, and he made a big fuss over nothing," said Grace, and John looked at her indignantly. "He is such a baby sometimes."

"It wasn't me making a fuss," he started to say, but saw the smile on her face, and laughed himself.

Bailey looked at the file Rachel was reading, and turned to Grace.

"Have you finished your report yet?"

Grace nodded, and Bailey indicated the door. "I think you should go home to your boys then," he said. "We have had a successful day, and I want you all out of here when we have finished our reports - you go now, Grace, and don't come in till we need you tomorrow."

"And thanks for the emergency surgery," quipped John, as she turned to leave. She snorted, and walked out of the control room, and Bailey looked over at John.

"You go too," he said. "You deserve an early one after that dip today. Do your report tomorrow. Marcus and I can handle the interview with McNeil."

John got to his feet, and grinned at the rest of the team.

"Don't have to ask me twice," he said, and headed up the stairs.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

By the next morning, there was another body, and once again, the team was back in action.

Bailey, John and Marcus spent the morning with the police, interviewing and analyzing statements, while Rachel wandered around the area where the girls' bodies had been found, trying to gain an impression of what the girls were like.

On returning, she sat down at her desk, the scenes playing over in her mind, as she tried to picture the circumstances leading up to each murder.

After a short time, George buzzed her and she went down to the control room, to see what he had found. On the large screen, there was a picture of the latest victim, a pretty young blonde woman.

"Her name is Mary Della-Tore. She was 23 years old and worked for the last three years as a prostitute in an establishment called - wait for it - 'Madam Lash's Pleasure and Pain Emporium', he said

Rachel made a face, and George laughed, popping another peppermint into his mouth.

"So we need as much background as you can find, George," she said, "When Bailey comes back, we'll probably go and visit Madam Lash!"

George raised his eyebrows, and smiled again. He stretched his arms above his head, and rolled his shoulders.

"That should be fun," he said. "And, perhaps instructive."

Rachel nodded and laughed as well. "Yes, it could be quite an eye opener," she said.

She headed back towards her office, wondering why she felt so much better today, - perhaps it was the joy and fulfillment of rescuing the little boy yesterday, but all the negative emotions she had been carrying around with her seemed to have disappeared and she felt much better. She only hoped it meant she was finally putting the entire 'going to jail' thing behind her and starting to get her life back under her own control.

As she sat down at her computer, Donna came in carrying two cups of coffee, and sat down handing one to Rachel.

"Have you worked out what you are going to wear to that dinner thing Saturday

night?" she asked and Rachel screwed up her nose a little, and shook her head.

"It's been ages since I've done any shopping," she said, "Not since before … before the whole Marks incident, actually."

Donna nodded. "That's what I thought," she said decisively. "Well, you and I are going shopping tonight. Because I know otherwise, you will wear something smart and business like – and you need to be more expressive. I believe it's pretty formal."

Rachel laughed, "What do you mean? More like you?" she said, sipping her coffee.

"Well, yes," replied Donna. "We need to get something happening in your life. You need to let go of yourself, even for one night. I'm going to help you become so gorgeous, you knock some of these guys off their feet."

"Which guys?' asked Rachel, smiling a little.

"Well, there's bound to be hundreds of single guys going to this dinner," said Donna. "And it's about time you showed them just how beautiful you can be!"

Rachel laughed and shook her head. "It wouldn't be me," she said softly. "This is what I am – plain and boring, and way too serious. And definitely not looking for a man to complicate my life." She shrugged her shoulders, and Donna shook her head.

"You are coming shopping with me," she repeated. "I won't take no for an answer. Tonight – be prepared."

And she picked up her cup and walked out of Rachel's office, bumping into Marcus and John as they came up the corridor. Rachel watched, as Donna spoke to them, causing both of them to laugh, then followed John down to his desk, and perching on the edge of it, began a long and animated conversation with him.

She turned her attention back to her report, wondering why that little scene had the power to depress her, just a little. She sighed, and determinedly tried to recapture the feeling of satisfaction and relief that she had been feeling earlier.

She became absorbed in what she was reading, and it was with a start she looked up as Grace tapped on her window.

"Coffee?' she said, and Rachel nodded, and stood up to join her.

As she followed Grace towards the canteen, she heard Donna's voice again, and saw that she was sitting at a table already, holding a can of coke, and laughing at something John was saying to her. Rachel gritted her teeth and sighed.

Grace looked at her in surprise.

"Is anything wrong?' she asked, and Rachel shook her head.

"No, not at all," came her reply, and Grace raised one eyebrow, but said nothing more.

"I know we've only been back such a short time," Rachel went on to say, as she stirred her coffee, "But I feel like I need a holiday already."

Grace nodded. "I am always tired," she said, "But I think that comes with being a single mum, and working. I sometimes wonder where my social life has gone. I am either at work, or at home with the children. No more late night dinners or shows for me. I don't even feel like going to this show on Saturday night, but Bailey really wants us to, so I guess I'll have to make an effort!"

Rachel nodded, and screwed up her nose.

"It will be my first time out since – in a really long time," she said. "Donna wants me to buy something new to wear. I really don't feel like going."

"Buying something new is a good idea," said Grace. "You look like you could use some retail therapy. And hey, we might actually enjoy ourselves Saturday night."

John walked up to them, and sat down, leaning one arm on the table, and resting his chin in one hand.

"Are you talking about the dinner?" he queried. "George and I are going to make a grand entrance together, he is picking me up on the way."

"And you are quite happy to go with him?" asked Grace, smiling a little. "You are a much braver man than I thought."

Both he and Grace laughed a moment, and Rachel looked at them in curiosity.

"George has a terrible driving record," Grace explained finally. "We tease him about it all the time – or we used to anyway. That's a good idea, car pooling – I go past your apartment Rachel, do you want to come with me, I can pick you up."

Rachel thanked her, and stood up. "Well, if Bailey doesn't need us to talk to this brothel owner till tomorrow, I might have an early afternoon, and go shopping with Donna."


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

In the end, Rachel had to admit, she enjoyed her afternoon with Donna. They hadn't had much time to catch up, and Rachel hadn't done much pampering for a long time, so it was unusual and fun to spend the afternoon going in and out of clothing shops, trying on different things, and just chatting with Donna and not being super serious for a change.

Rachel was a little later to work than usual the next morning, and everyone was gathered in the control center, discussing the most recent events in the prostitute slayings

"George has linked another of those victims with that particular establishment," was Bailey's greeting to her, and handed her a file. She sat down next to George to read it, flicking through the contents.

"John, you and Rachel can go and talk to this 'Madam Lash'. I've made an appointment for you." Bailey went on to say. John nodded, and Rachel raised one eyebrow.

"This should be fun," she said.

George looked at her, and smiled openly. "As I said, it might even be instructive. You might learn something John. And I don't mean about the case."

"Fun," murmured John, casting a sideways look at Rachel. "I didn't think you understood the concept."

She stiffened and glared back at him.

"Yes, well we are not all one dimensional characters like you," she retorted, and he grinned again, looking down at the table, then back up at her, shaking his head a little.

"That's true," he murmured again. "But hey, at least I have more emotions than just anger."

She glared at him again, and Bailey turned around, and walked back down to where they were sitting.

"Is there a problem?" he asked, oblivious to their traded insults. George opened his eyes very wide, but studiously kept reading, and John stood up, shaking his head.

"No problem," he said, and turned to Rachel. "Shall we go and keep our appointment," he asked her, in his most polite tone.

* * *

John opened the car door for Rachel, and she looked at him in surprise.

"Thank you, kind sir," she said sarcastically, letting him know she hadn't forgiven him for his earlier crack about her lack of emotions.

He flashed a contrite grin at her, and she reluctantly smiled back at him, he was impossible to stay mad at for long, especially today, when she was still basking in the glow of saving the child's life.

"This must be a fairly high class establishment," he said, looking up at the bluestone building, with its deep casement windows, and lacy verandah trim.

"And you would know, of course," she replied, "Having been in so many of them."

This time he sent a hurt look in her direction, and shook his head slightly.

"I don't think I've ever been in a brothel, except on official business," he said quickly.

"Yeah, right," she said, as deliberately disbelieving as she could, grasping the knocker on the door, and letting it fall loudly against the wood.

"Do you really think I'm that sort of person?" he asked, quite indignant, and she laughed at his expression.

"I am sure you've never paid for it," she said soothingly.

He continued to look hurt, rather like a sulky little schoolboy, she knew she should stop, but she couldn't help teasing him.

At that moment, however, the door was opened by a large and tattooed man, who looked them over assessingly, then grunted as John produced his badge and showed it to him.

He opened the door and stood aside indicating that they could enter.

Rachel looked around at the very plain entrance hall, it could have been any old apartment building that they were entering, but she noted the burly security guard sitting in a small desk area was able to see anyone that came or went out of this door.

He looked up, and once more John flashed his badge.

"We are looking for a Madam Lash?" he asked, keeping his face completely expressionless, not without difficulty.

"Madam is busy, do you have an appointment?" asked the guard. Rachel nodded, and also produced her badge.

"She is expecting us," she said, and the guard indicated that they should follow him, and opened a door leading off the wide entrance hall.

The room they entered was exquisitely decorated, with soft pastel colors, expensive couches and reclining chairs, large vases of fresh flowers on small occasional tables; it was nothing like either of them expected it to be. At one end of the room, however, was a very large mirror, and as Rachel walked towards it, she realized it was a two-way mirror, and that some very interesting things were happening on the other side.

She heard John's gasp, as he came and stood alongside of her, and they both watched the man on the other side of the mirror. He was naked and erect, chained hand and foot, and in the process of being whipped on the buttocks by a woman who was dressed entirely in black leather.

His cries for mercy were going unheeded. John took a step forward, and Rachel grabbed his arm, shaking her head.

"He's probably paid her to do that to him," she whispered to John. "It certainly looks like he's enjoying it."

John turned away in disgust, and went and stood at the other end of the room.

Rachel, with another lingering glance at the bound and naked man, joined him, smiling at his expression.

"I can't believe that you, of all people, are such a prude," she said, and he turned towards her in anger.

"I'm not a p…" he stopped suddenly when another door into the room opened, and the woman, dressed in black leather, and still carrying her whip entered.

"Well, well, what have we here?" she asked in a melodious voice, slowly walking towards them, and slapping the plaited handle of the black leather whip across her palm. "You're not a what? Did you enjoy watching?"

John looked at her, and his blue eyes widened in surprise. For a moment he said nothing, then lifting his chin, and wiping all expression from his face, he asked her if she was Lisa Kent, the proprietor of the brothel, and flicked out his badge.

"FBI," he said shortly, "We need to ask you some questions about several of your employees."

He looked over the woman, who was probably in her mid 30's, dressed in very tight very short black leather skirt, and a black leather camisole, with a huge studded black belt cinching in her waist very tightly, and thigh length leather boots, with very high heels. She was very beautiful, in an austere sort of way, with white blonde hair piled high on her head, and flawless make up.

She kept walking towards John, and then in a circle around him, still slapping the handle of her whip across her palm. Her eyes traveled slowly up and down the length of his body, and she licked her lips before she spoke again.

"Um, nice," she said, ignoring his introduction, and continuing to circle him.

"What turns you on, Mr FBI," she murmured to him. "Have you ever considered being tied up or whipped?"

John opened and shut his mouth several times; not believing what he had heard her say, an expression of disbelief on his face. Rachel smothered a smile, and crossed her arms.

"We are here to talk about several of your employees," she repeated. The woman ignored her, still stripping John with her hot gaze, and still tapping the whip on her palm.

"I love to dominate," she continued, "And I am very, very good at it. I'd like to play with you for a while. I love authority figures - I bet I'd be able to break you."

By this time John's face had turned crimson, and he stood blinking at the dominatrix, unable to think of anything to say.

Rachel however, was made of sterner stuff.

"This is all very interesting," she told the leather -clad woman. "But Agent Grant and I need to find out who the regular customers were, and when you last saw Missy Evans, and Jasmine Talbert, and Mary Della Tore."

The woman smiled again, and walked closer still to John, who was staring at her in fascination and horror.

"And what is your preference?" she asked, turning her head to look intently back at Rachel, and making John aware that she had him penned in the corner of the room.

"My preference?" asked Rachel. "My preference is that you answer our questions, and stop tormenting Agent Grant."

"Oh," replied the woman casually, "Don't tell me you wouldn't enjoy seeing him on his knees before you – naked and in chains?"

Rachel turned to look at John in an appraising manner, a slow smile appearing on her face, as she considered the words of the brothel madam.

"Well, yes, that does have possibilities," she replied, totally unfazed, ignoring the outraged look on his face, "But we are here for work not to play games, so please can you answer our questions."

With that the woman laughed, and indicated that they both take a seat, watching as John moved to stand next to, and slightly behind Rachel. He seemed unable to say anything.

"Call me Lisa," she told them, her eyes never leaving John's face. "Both Mary and Jasmine worked for me, Missy left my employ a little over 12 months ago, she had found someone who she said would make her happy. I haven't seen or heard from her in all that time, until I read the paper yesterday, and saw she had been murdered. And Jasmine was still working for me, when she disappeared. They found her body last week. And now Mary – I can't believe it -This is a terrible thing – and it hurts my profession. I hope you can catch whoever is murdering these girls."

John had taken out his notebook, and was making notes, while Rachel talked to the woman. He didn't want to look up at her, or talk to her, in case she said something else outrageous to him.

In his time as a uniformed police officer, then detective and even many times since he had become an agent for the FBI, he had been sworn at, shot at, spat at and screamed at, punched and kicked, but never before, had he been made to feel as naked, exposed and uncomfortable as the brothel owner had just made him feel.

He kept his head down, and continued to scribble in his notebook, listening for Rachel's questions, and Lisa Kent's answers, hoping that the color and heat would leave his face.

"We would like a list of the men who visited Mary and Jasmine regularly, and especially on the last nights they worked here, if possible," Rachel was saying, "You would know if they were regulars."

"Yes," said Lisa Kent, her eyes still watching John, as he pretended to industriously write his notes, "Yes, I keep records, in this business and with the amount of police attention I receive, it is advisable to do so."

"Good," replied Rachel briskly, "And also, for Missy, if possible. I know it was a while ago she worked here, but anything you have would be appreciated. Do you remember any incidents at all – did either girl mention anything out of the ordinary that you can think of?"

"Yes," said Lisa Kent suddenly, sitting more upright, "Jasmine was talking about someone who followed her. It freaked her out, and trust me, it took a lot to scare her."

"Followed her?" asked John, looking up from his notes, all-professional again. "How do you mean?"

Lisa smiled slowly at him. "You know, followed her – I think for a couple of days at least that she knew of. This person followed her home, and from home to here. She wasn't always sure, that's why she didn't confront him. But perhaps that's what she did, on that last night, and he was the one who killed her."

"You haven't told the police about this?" asked Rachel, frowning.

"I'm telling you now," came the reply. "The police didn't ask me."

"Did she describe this person at all?" asked John, embarrassment forgotten. "Did she say anything to you about it?"

"She said she thought that a man was following her. She told me he was fairly tall – but that could be anywhere upwards of about 5'9 or 10 – Jasmine wasn't a very tall person herself, she thought I was tall, and I'm only 5'7' "

"Did she say anything else about this person?" asked Rachel, "Did she mention whether she thought he was young or old, or what color or race? Anything?"

"She just said he was tall and creepy. But she wasn't even that sure she was being followed, she just mentioned it to me as a casual remark – the day before she disappeared, in fact. I told her to get one of the men I employ as security to accompany her home, and she did, but that was the last time I spoke to her."

"Which person accompanied her home?" asked John, raising his head again, and stopping chewing on the end of his pen. "We would like to speak to him, as well."

The brothel owner stood up, and indicated that they follow her, and she led them out of the room, and into the corridor.

"Davis," she said, indicating the tattooed man who had opened the door for them.

"These people would like a word with you."

She turned to leave, then turned back – "If one of you comes with me, I'll go through my records and see what information I can get."

Rachel nodded, and started to follow her, and John walked over to the tattooed security guard. Lisa turned to wink at him, as she walked off, laughing softly to herself.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

John sat in the car, and heaved a sigh of relief, then turned to glare at Rachel.

"Not a word to George, or Grace," he said threateningly. "And especially not to Marcus!"

She tried to keep the smile off her face, and the tremor out of her voice.

"I'm hurt that you would even think that I would spread that little story around the office," she said, as sincerely as she could.

John started the engine, and they pulled away from the curb. She managed to keep a straight face for the length of time he took to make the turn and accelerate into the stream of traffic; then she couldn't hold it in any longer, and burst out laughing.

When she caught his sideways glare at her, her mirth only increased. It was the first time in weeks, no, months that she had felt like laughing.

"Rachel, it's not funny!" he said, biting the inside of his lip, as he pulled up at the red light. "I mean Really Not Funny."

She couldn't say anything, she kept laughing, watching his face, until he reluctantly grinned at her, and finally began laughing too.

"Oh all right," he said eventually, "But she was very intimidating. And what would you have done, had she spoken to you like that?"

"Well she obviously didn't fancy me," said Rachel, in between bouts, "Or think I would look good in bondage."

"And if a man had spoken to you like that?" he enquired.

"Oh I would have screamed sexual harassment," she replied.

"So what she did to me wasn't sexual harassment?" asked John bitterly.

"Well yes, it was," said Rachel, "But it was funny – your face was funny. Besides, I was there to protect you, so you were in no danger. I wouldn't have let her hurt you." And she began laughing again.

John sighed deeply, and turned his attention back to the traffic, resisting the urge to join in again with the laughter.

"Marcus and George will have a field day with this," he said gloomily.

Rachel nodded. "And Bailey, and the rest of the team," she added happily.

"I am going to have a great time."

* * *

She skipped ahead of him, and rushed into the elevator, while he was still locking the car, and handing the keys to the guard, so by the time he arrived back in the Control Center, she was already there, whispering into Grace's ear, and the whole team turned to look as he walked in.

"We are going to follow up about this possible stalker," said Bailey, straight away, as John sat down in one of the deep leather seats, and rested his crossed arms on the table.

"Yes," said Grace quickly, "We are going to have to Whip up some ideas first. Before we get all 'tied up'"

Rachel smothered a laugh. George looked over at her.

"We are Bound to come up with something," he said, and Grace snorted.

"What Strikes me, about the whole thing, though," said Bailey, a grin threatening to spoil his otherwise straight face, "Is that the police don't know anything about a stalker. It's going to be a matter of hitting the streets, and it will be a hard flog err I mean slog."

John heaved a pained sigh, and dropped his head into his arms that were folded on the table.

"I don't know what's worse," he said, in a muffled tone. "But I think your really bad puns are more painful than the embarrassment that the brothel owner put me through. And thank you Rachel, for making sure everyone knew what happened."

"You can count on me, partner," she replied, and he looked up at her into her eyes, that were brimming with laughter, and grinned reluctantly as the rest of the team collapsed.

Bailey laughed along with them, and then sobered up, as he looked down at the folder in front of him.

"Well you two have managed to turn up a few new leads," he said, as the team settled down. "I'm going to need some background on these people," he told George, as he indicated the list of customers that Lisa Kent had provided.

George's fingers flew over the keyboard, as he scanned the names that were listed.

"I doubt whether too many of these names will check out," he said, "I mean we have to look at the fact that most of these guys would leave false ID."

Bailey nodded. "See what you can come up with anyway Georgie. I mean four young women slaughtered in the last 2 months, in the same way – I'm sure that the murderer won't be someone who has left their details on file at a brothel, but you never know. Rachel, what are you getting?"

Rachel screwed up her face. "Look for a male, probably Caucasian; between the age of about 20 to about 50 – only because of the age of the girls killed. But why he's mutilating them the way he is, I don't know. We have a connection about where they worked – all of them were involved in the sex industry – and three of them worked for Lisa Kent, in her bondage brothel. Now John and I spoke to Miss Kent, and she mentioned this stalker – but only in the most general terms – and I don't know if this is a red herring, or not. She has been very open, and is allowing us access to her records, such as they are, but I still have a feeling that this has something to do with her, and that the first girl killed was perhaps a 'trial run' so to speak."

Bailey nodded, as if in confirmation, and looked over at John.

"Maybe you can see if any of your old contacts know anything?" he said, "And we only have a couple days, till he's due to kill again, if the pattern holds. I think if we haven't come up with something by then, we will have to put someone in the Brothel."

Grace smiled, and looked over at Rachel. "You'd look very good in leather," she said, and quick as a flash, Rachel came back with "Not as good as John would, in chains," and everyone laughed again, except John, who cast a glance of loathing at Rachel, and stood up to leave the room, a picture of hurt pride.

Marcus passed him on the stairs, and glanced over at him, raising his eyebrows in surprise at John's expression.

"I couldn't pick up anything worth a cent, on the streets. None of my contacts know anything about these killings," he said in disgust, sitting down next to Rachel. He looked around the room, and then back to Rachel.

"O.K. what did I miss?" he asked suspiciously, "Let me in on the joke."

With a muffled laugh, George leant over the table, and began filling him in on the details of the trip to the brothel. His hoot of laughter reached John who was just sitting down at his desk. John rolled his eyes, and cursed Rachel under his breath, it was going to be a long day.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

When Rachel and Grace walked into the crowded and large ballroom of the convention center the following night, they were surprised to find they were the first of the VCTF team to arrive, so they sat down at their empty table, noting that it was a table for six, and both of them speculating on who it was that Bailey was bringing.

"I can't get over how beautiful you look," Grace told Rachel, who had been bullied by Donna into wearing her hair up, and putting on makeup. "That dress, that color is stunning!"

Rachel shook her head a little. "I feel a little uncomfortable," she said. "I mean, it's not really me, is it?"

"Of course it's you," replied Grace. "Just a different aspect of you. You look really glamorous. Besides, if you've got it, flaunt it."

"Ah, but have I got It?" said Rachel, smiling a little. "Look at how dolled up some of these women are. And you too, you look lovely."

"Well, anything is more flattering than that white coat I seem to be always wearing," replied Grace. "And I'm officially a single person again – so I might actually try and enjoy myself, now that I'm here."

Their table was almost in the middle of the room, and the table nearest to them was already full, about 12 people were sitting around talking and laughing. One man stood up, and made his way over to them, tapping Grace on the shoulder.

"Grace," he said, and she looked up at him, then stood up smiling.

"Hi, it's great to see you," she said, and hugged him tightly, then turned to Rachel, "This is David, David Browne – he is with the Coroner's Department. We have known each other for ages," she explained to Rachel. Rachel nodded, and Grace walked a few paces away, talking and laughing with her old friend.

Rachel sat there for a moment, and then as she was watching the doorway, George and then John appeared, and she widened her eyes, as they were both wearing tuxedos, like the majority of the men in the room, and they both looked sensational. George because the tux suited his dark eyes and hair, and John because – because he would look sensational in anything he wore, his dark good looks emphasized by the soft white shirt, and dark tuxedo, which outlined his tall, broad shouldered physique.

She looked down at her hands clasped on the table, and wondered why she suddenly felt nervous.

George suddenly appeared and sat down next to her.

"Hey, this is supposed to be a fun occasion," he said to her, and she smiled at him.

"You look incredible, George," she said and he smiled back at her.

"Ditto," he said. "I'm not used to dressing up like this, pretty smooth, hey." He looked down at the sleeve of his suit, and stroked the material. "John made me hire this, and threatened me with serious consequences, if I didn't."

Rachel smiled. "I didn't think you would be scared of John," she said, smiling widely. "Anyway he did us a favor, you look very handsome. All the single women in the place must be eyeing you off already."

George laughed out loud. "Well won't they be disappointed." He chuckled. "Besides which, most of them can't get their eyes off John anyway. – And that goes for some of the guys, as well."

This time Rachel laughed aloud. "Well, sexual preferences aside, you have to have a dance with me, after the formal part of the evening is over."

"I'd be only too honored," he replied, and then smiled at Grace as she rejoined them.

"And with you too, lovely lady," he said to her.

Rachel looked over at the doorway, where John was still standing, talking to a group of men.

"He'll be over there for ages," said George, noticing where she was looking.

"They are a few of his old friends from the police department. They'll be catching up on all the departmental gossip."

"That's not all the catching up that will be done," said Grace cryptically, and George sent her a questioning look.

"Anne Taylor is here. She's sitting at the table next to the buffet. – No the other one," this as George swiveled his head around to stare.

Rachel looked at them both in puzzlement. "Anne Taylor? Who is she?" she asked, and George leant over the table to whisper in confidence.

"She and John were engaged. Then, just before he came over to the VCTF they split up – she broke it off and took up with her – and his – boss. She wanted promotion, and got it – at the expense of their relationship. I didn't realize she was back in Atlanta. I wonder if John knows."

All three of them turned and looked back at John, who was still standing with the same group of people, laughing at something. He turned, and caught Rachel's eye, and winked at her, and she couldn't help smiling back at him.

She was distracted then, by a drinks waiter, who hovered over George, and took drink orders for them, and then allowed her eyes to drift over to where Grace had said John's ex was sitting, and noted the pretty brunette's eyes were also fixed on the group of men near the doorway, and Rachel would have bet any money on the fact she was staring at John.

He left the group, and walked over towards the VCTF table, stopping occasionally to speak to different people, totally unaware of the hungry female eyes that followed him, eventually ending up at Rachel's side, and sat down next to her.

"How are you two lovely ladies tonight?" he asked, and Grace smiled back at him.

"Finished with the catching up?" she asked. "How about ordering some drinks."

John motioned the drinks waiter, and then looked appraisingly at Rachel.

"You look lovely," he said to her, and she felt ridiculously happy.

Their drinks arrived, and so did Bailey, walking up to the table leading a stunningly beautiful blonde by the hand, and they all surged to their feet, as they recognized Sam Waters.

Grace was the first to recover; she rushed forward to hug Sam, unable to believe her eyes.

"Sam, Oh my God it's so good to see you," was all she could say, and then both John and George also stepped forward, and hugged her, questions flying around from everyone.

When she finally emerged from the tangle of arms, she stepped forward and held her hand out and Rachel too, found herself enfolded and thoroughly hugged by Sam.

"You have been through so much, you poor thing," she said, stepping back, and looking at Rachel out of her beautiful big blue eyes. "When Bailey told me what happened to you, I was really angry with the Department. If they hadn't released you when they did, I was going in with a file hidden in a cake."

Everyone laughed, and Sam sat down in the chair being held for her by Bailey.

"Well?" demanded Grace – "Tell us everything – how's Chloe and Angel? How long have you been back in Atlanta? You look wonderful. Are you coming back to work with us?"

"Oh no," replied Sam quickly. "I couldn't. Let me see, Chloe is fine, very grown up now, she is staying with her grandparents for the school holidays – and Angel has done really well with her painting, she is traveling overseas doing exhibitions at the moment. I got back last week, but I have been corresponding with Bailey for quite a while. He asked me to come here tonight to surprise you guys, and I have wanted to see you all for ages. So – here I am, back again."

Conversation flowed back and forth across the table, with Bailey watching Sam and smiling broadly. He was thrilled she had accompanied him tonight; he was hoping that their close previous working relationship would finally develop into something deeper.

All through the meal, they laughed and talked, catching up on the two years that they hadn't been in touch, with Rachel sitting back a little, thrilled to see Sam, and thrilled that she had gone out of her way to include Rachel, but being content to just listen to the others.

The whole time she could feel the burning stare from the woman across the room, glaring at John, and then at Rachel herself. John hadn't yet noticed, it was a wonder he didn't spontaneously combust from sparks she was shooting out of her eyes. However, he was sitting with his back towards his former fiancée, and hadn't even looked in that general direction. He, like the others at the table, was too entranced in Sam, to care who else was there.

Finally, the formal part of the evening began, with awards given out, and speeches congratulations and acceptance. After the tables had been cleared, and the last speaker had left the stage, the music began, and suddenly people were dancing.

Without missing a beat, Bailey held out his hand to Sam, and they joined the other people on the dance floor, he looked proud and almost awed by the fact she was now in his arms.

Grace turned to John, and shook her head in amazement.

"I just can't believe she's back," she said. "It is wonderful to see her here, and with Bailey looking so happy as well – it's amazing."

John nodded, and turned slightly to watch Bailey and Sam, and Rachel could tell by the tensing of his body, the exact moment he saw his former fiancée. He didn't say anything, however, just turned back in his chair, and picked up his drink, tossing it down; then indicating to a nearby drinks waiter.

He ordered another round of drinks for everyone, and threw some money on the table, then stood up, murmuring to George that he needed to catch up with someone, and headed off through the dancers on the floor, and out of the main doorway.

George sighed and turned to Grace. "I think he just realized that Anne is here," he said. Grace nodded and shrugged her shoulders.

"Well they had to run into each other sooner or later," she said philosophically. "I thought he was well and truly over her, anyway."

"He is," said George, "I guess it was a shock seeing her here, though. Do you think I should go after him?"

Grace shook her head. "No, leave him alone, he's a big boy now," she said, sipping her wine. "You can dance with me, instead. That's if Rachel doesn't mind?"

Rachel smiled "Go ahead, I don't mind at all," she said. "I'm happy to sit here and watch."

She picked up her wine, and began sipping it, watching the people sway back and forth on the dance floor, listening to the music and tapping her foot. She smiled at Grace and George, as they circled by, and then decided that her wine was too strong, and she began to thread her way between the tables, heading for the bar, where she sat down on a stool, and ordered a cola. After a little while, John appeared back in the doorway, and saw her sitting there. He came over, and sat down on the bar stool next to her.

"Problem?" she asked him, and he smiled and shook his head.

"No," he replied, swiveling around on his stool, and resting his elbows on the bar. "I just saw someone I used to know really well. Someone I wasn't expecting to see."

Rachel didn't reply, but watched his profile. After a moment, he turned to face her, still smiling slightly, and held out his hand.

"Dance with me?" he asked softly. "Let's show Bailey how it's done – look at him, I think he's forgotten."

She stared at him for a moment, and it struck her all over again how very handsome he was, with his blue eyes and dark coloring, and his wonderfully sensual mouth. She reached out and allowed him to take her hand.

"What makes you think I know?" she asked, still looking at him, but following him through the press of people.

"I'm sure you know how to dance Rachel," he said. "All that talk about being tough. It's all show with you isn't it?"

She went to pull her hand out of his, but his grip tightened.

On the edge of dance area, he turned and put his arms around her, and for a moment it was if she couldn't breathe, surrounded by the sight and feel of him, and then they were swinging in amongst the press of people, and he was laughing down at her, as he twirled her around and around in time with the music, and she clutched him tightly, to stop falling over, laughing back, and feeling ridiculously happy.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Over the next hour or so, she danced again and again with John, and once with Bailey, and once with George, the night flew past, and Rachel was the happiest she had been in a long time. She was really glad that she had made the effort to dress up and to turn up, the few people she had knew and had spoken to, outside of the VCTF team, had been supportive and pleased that she was no longer in jail, and the deep shame that she carried inside her, always, seemed to be slipping away.

She was also feeling an emotion strange to her, some sort of longing, a squeezing around her heart that was only eased when she danced held in John's arms, or pressed tightly against his body, a feeling very alien to her.

She and Grace left the convention center before any of the others, Grace didn't want to have a particularly late night, and Rachel was really pleased to be included in a girls only get together that Grace and Sam had arranged for the following day.

She took off her beautiful dress, smiling ironically as she caught sight of herself in her new lingerie in the mirror, remembering Donna's comments about finding herself a man, but as she slipped into bed, she closed her eyes and could still hear the music in her head, and feel the strength in the arms of the man she had been dancing with, holding her tight, while her head was spinning slightly, and her senses overwhelmed her with the scent of his aftershave, the heat from his body, and the comfort of being held in his arms and hating herself for enjoying it so much.

The next day she slept in late, and spent the morning cleaning her apartment, almost lethargically, before getting dressed and heading over to Grace's house, for a late lunch.

Sam had arrived before her, and she found both women sitting on the floor in Grace's lounge room, encouraging the sitting baby to crawl, and laughing.

Sam swept the baby up into her arms, and kissed his soft downy head.

"I'm so sorry I didn't come back to see him when he was born," she was saying to Grace "I really needed to get right away, and I couldn't face coming back here for such a long time."

Grace smiled and nodded her head. "We totally understood, Sam, we all knew the incredible strain those years had been for you. There is no need for explanations. But it was a wonderful surprise to see you last night – and with Bailey …..what's going on?"

Sam laughed, and put the baby back on the floor, standing up gracefully and held out her hand to welcome Rachel.

"I don't know what's going on with Bailey," she replied, and followed the other women over to sit at Grace's dining table. "But I'm willing to take things slowly, and wait and see."

The lunch that Grace had prepared was pasta and salad, and they all pitched in and helped with setting the table, and feeding the baby, Rachel trying to spoon mashed vegetables into George's mouth, and laughing as he spat most of them back over her. The other child, Jason, was spending the weekend with his father, so after lunch, Grace took the baby to clean him up and settle down for a nap, leaving Sam and Rachel in the kitchen, doing the dishes.

They talked in general, about cases that had come up, and Sam talked about how her life had changed with the death of Jack, her serial stalker, and how it had taken many months to regain any sort of normality in her life, her very close brush with a complete mental breakdown, and the wonder of being close again to her daughter, when Jack had tried to come between them, and destroy their relationship.

"Even now," she went on to say, "Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I hear something strange and for a moment my heart races, and my palms sweat and I think – is it Jack? And coming back here, so many memories – it seems so different, but exactly the same."

Grace came back into the kitchen, and began making coffee, and they sat around the table. Finally Sam asked Rachel about her time in jail, and how she was coping now that she was out.

"It was awful, the most awful thing ever," said Rachel slowly. "It is de -humanizing. I really don't want to think about it, ever. I thought getting back to work would solve all my problems and help me sort out my feelings, resolve my anger, but so far it hasn't. Grace wants me to talk to a psychologist or a counselor, but I can't see that helping."

Sam reached over, and squeezed her hand. "Believe me, it can help," she said. "I needed to talk out everything, and I am a psychologist. I talked for a year. In fact, I'm still talking to a psychologist. If you need someone to talk to – away from the VCTF, I'd be only too glad to give you the name of the person who helped me."

Rachel smiled and shook her head. "I'm fine, absolutely," she replied "I'll get through, I know I will. I felt much better the last few days. I am working this out."

She smiled again at Grace's expression, and looked down at her hands, clasped on the table.

"Well," said Sam, turning to Grace. "Tell me what else has been happening. I mean, how's George?"

"I am very proud of George," replied Grace. "He went through an incredibly tough time, and has managed to turn everything around, and was a huge help to me when Morgan left. George would make a point of dropping in once or twice a week to check up on me, when the VCTF was disbanded. We were the only two left here, Bailey of course was at Quantico, and John flitting all over the place. But he is fine now, and his relationship with Richard just as strong as ever."

Sam nodded, and a particularly tender smile hovered around her shapely mouth.

"And John?" she asked. "How is John – I mean is he still the same – still running into burning buildings, and up impossibly high ladders to catch the bad guys?"

Grace laughed and nodded. "Just the same," she said, and glanced over at Rachel. "Only the other day, he jumped into a swollen canal to rescue a child, with no thought for his own safety."

"Oh Yes," added Rachel – "He likes to be the boy-scout - to play the hero."

Sam looked at her for a long moment. "Is that what you think he does?' she asked quietly. "Play for the kudos, for the glory of being a hero?"

Rachel didn't answer, but screwed up her nose. Sam looked at her a little longer, and then leant forward, again taking one of Rachel's hands in her own.

"There is some quality in John that brings out my maternal instinct," she said, and Grace nodded in agreement. "When I look at him, I can always see the hurt and abused little boy, hiding behind the swagger."

Rachel pulled back a little, and stared back at Sam curiously. "What do you mean?" she asked, "What are you talking about?"

"John never told you about his upbringing?" asked Sam. "I'm sorry – I shouldn't have said anything – Did I tell you that Chloe and I spent six months in Hawaii?" and she changed the subject abruptly, but Rachel stood up suddenly, and reached for the coffee pot.

"You can't stop there," she told Sam, "John and I clash a little, we always have, but he worked wonders to get me out of prison. Anything that helps me understand him a little better is a good thing." She stopped talking and sat down again, sighing heavily.

"I knew that you and John had some sort of past, when I first met you, when you helped us track down Jack. "said Sam, smiling at Rachel. "There was a noticeable tension between you, even back then. Bailey has since told me that you two had an encounter of sorts at Quantico, before you came to Atlanta. And that Marks found out, and had charges brought against you for misconduct and abuse of authority. That must have been very hard for you to go through. For both of you to go through."

Rachel nodded, but didn't say anything, sipping her coffee slowly, keeping her eyes on Sam.

"So I thought that you and John would have talked all this sort of stuff out by now, especially as he went in so hard to clear your name. In fact, watching you with him last night, I got the impression that…"

"No," said Rachel, cutting Sam off and jumping up again in agitation. "There's nothing between us. I would like to be friends though, so tell me, what happened to John – what is it about his past that is so terrible."

Grace cleared her throat, and indicated that she sit down again.

"John's father was very abusive." She told Rachel. "He put John in hospital several times when he was a child, with broken bones and the like, from severe beatings. And finally when his mother decided not to take any more and took John, and fled, he pursued them up and down the country. There is some question as to whether John's mother was murdered or not, by his father."

"Oh," said Rachel and looked down at her fingernails. "I didn't know, that's terrible."

"Yes," said Sam, "It is, and it explains a lot of why John is the way he is, too.

I don't think that he is the first one through the broken down door, or into the abandoned building, or chasing down a suspect because he wants the glory. I think it is because he feels that he is the expendable member of the team: that maybe he is not as important as the rest, and that if he were injured or even killed, that it wouldn't matter very much. I think because of his abusive childhood, he tends to feel a little worthless, anyone who is constantly put down all the time, like he would have been, feels that way. And that's why I guess, most of us, Bailey, Grace and myself all tend to fuss a little over him, without ever letting him know that we do."

Grace smiled a little. "You are right, Sam," she said softly. "I sometimes see the child in him, too. And believe me, he hates the fussing."

They both laughed, and Rachel smiled reflectively. Grace looked at her face, and changed the subject immediately.

"We shouldn't be discussing our work colleagues like this," she said. "But while we are, I want the truth Sam. How long have you and Bailey been in touch?"

Sam laughed again, and shook her head. "There is nothing to tell, really," she said. "There may be a future for us, but not just yet. I am still not ready for another relationship – but I am willing to stay in contact now, and see what happens."


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Monday morning, and another case to solve, Rachel and Marcus were whisked off to Austin for an investigation into a multiple murder that had occurred, and Bailey and John were caught up in the ongoing prostitution murders investigations, so it wasn't till Tuesday afternoon that Rachel was actually back in her office, staring blankly at her computer screen, able to process the information she had collected.

She had been feeling very differing emotions since talking with Sam and Grace – she was almost at the point of admitting to herself that she felt a strong attraction for John Grant, after dancing with him on Saturday night, she couldn't let go of the memory of being held in his arms. She was truly scared; she had never allowed herself the freedom of caring very much about other people, outside her immediately family.

Impatiently she shook her head, trying to physically change her thoughts, and bring them back to the investigation in hand, when Bailey stuck his head in her door, and asked her to join the team in the control room.

John was pacing up and down, as was his wont in times of stress, and Marcus was lounging back in his chair, watching with a smile on his face.

"Poor Johnny is agitated," he said to Bailey as he and Rachel came down the stairs. "He thinks you are going to make him go and hang out in that brothel."

Bailey smiled and raised his eyebrows. "Well one of you is going to have to," he said, "unless we can come up with a reasonable suspect within the next couple of days. But luckily Rachel believes she has something on this murder in Austin, so we can focus on that for the moment, and John you can stop wearing out the carpet and sit down."

John flopped into the nearest vacant chair, and moodily rested his elbows on the table, glowering at Marcus, but not saying anything. Rachel handed a disk to George, and proceeded to take everyone step by step through what she and Marcus had discovered so far, and what her gut instinct was telling her about the murders.

John and Marcus were then dispatched to Austin, and were able to arrest the suspect, who eventually broke down and confessed, and so another of their cases was bought to a satisfactory conclusion.

Back in the control center on Wednesday morning, and Bailey was thrilled with the speed in which they had solved several of their cases, and very complimentary to the team, and especially to Rachel. He took the time to congratulate the team on their recent success, and letting them know their hard work was appreciated, as well as scoring them all brownie points with Head Office.

"Now, as far as these prostitute murders – we have had four so far, three most definitely connected to Lisa Kent, the whole thing revolves around her. I have put a couple of people on surveillance around her brothel, but I think I'd like to get someone inside, if possible as well."

Rachel stood up and began walking towards the big screen. "I first thought that the murderer was killing girls to threaten Lisa Kent," she said, indicating the four young women's faces that were highlighted on the screen. "But now – I think that he is using these murders' as a kind of courtship."

George raised his eyebrows, and Marcus shrugged his shoulders, and gave a grim laugh.

"That's one present a girl isn't going to forget," he muttered. John looked sideways at him, and also laughed.

"I know it sounds strange," said Rachel, ignoring the men's reactions. "But these murders are definitely linked to her, one way or the other. I think I'll go back and talk with her again, Bailey – there are a few more areas I'd like to explore."

Marcus looked back at John, a grin on his face. "Are you taking Johnny with you again?" he asked. "Can I come and watch him being embarrassed this time?"

John narrowed his eyes at the others, and gave a sniff of disapproval. George grinned and Bailey smiled a little and leant forward.

"You go with Rachel and John this time Marcus. Maybe Miss Kent will find you as attractive. I have multiple reports to write, or I'd come along and join the fun."

John heaved a long-suffering sigh, and stood up, grabbing his suit jacket from the back of his chair. "I am so glad that I am a source of amusement for you all. - I'll wait in the car," he said, as he followed the other two agents up the steps towards the elevator.

Marcus, who was driving, maneuvered the car into an empty space behind a carpenter's van, which was parked in front of the brothel.

"A little bit obvious," he said, indicating the van. "I thought our boys would be slightly more subtle."

"I don't think it's our surveillance team," said John, climbing out of the passenger side of the car, and walking around behind the van. "Maybe, and here's a scary thought, it's actually a workman's van! Maybe the workman is inside, utilizing the services."

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit," said Rachel. "Maybe the workman is across the road, building an extension, or putting in a new office bench or something. You know, actually working at this time of the day."

"Or not," said John, as a heavily built man, dressed in jeans and a short sleeved top, with a workman's tool belt around his waist, emerged from the brothel, and made his way past them to the van.

"He still could be working," said Rachel, "fixing up something inside."

"Yeah," said Marcus, "I bet I know what he's been fixing up, all right."

John laughed, and Rachel cast both men a look of dislike. "I hope Lisa Kent puts you both in your place," she muttered, as they climbed the steps to the door.

There was no one behind the one way mirror this time, and Lisa Kent was wearing jeans and a bright pink sweater, the casual outfit made her look much younger and softer than the leather outfit of the dominatrix. She smiled at Rachel and indicated that they should all take a seat. John immediately sat in the single chair nearest the door, and after a moment Marcus sat in another single chair, leaving Rachel to sit on the sofa.

"I hope you have got some good news for me," she said sitting down next to Rachel on the plush sofa.

"We have a couple of agents doing a 24 hour surveillance on this property," said Rachel, "And there are a couple of things I'd like to clarify, if possible."

"Anything," replied the brothel owner, her eyes sliding past Rachel, and locking onto John's. "Anything at all," and she smiled at him, watching him drop his eyes, and color creep into his cheeks.

"Have you received any gifts or any sort of unusual attention from anyone lately?" asked Rachel. "Is there anyone special in your life at the moment? Or more particularly, anyone who would like to be special in your life?"

Lisa Kent frowned a little, and looked back at Rachel. "This isn't about me," she said. "I don't know who is killing those girls. Why would you ask me a question like that?"

Rachel leaned forward. "Well I do think it's about you," she said emphatically.

"I think whoever is murdering those girls, is doing it for your sake, - no don't get angry, I don't mean at your say so, I mean, he's doing it as a twisted sort of courtship – to get your attention, to win your approval or your love."

Lisa Kent sat back and frowned at Rachel. "I'm not sure I understand you," she said slowly. "What a disgusting thing for anyone to do. I don't know of anyone – "she broke off suddenly, looking pensive.

"What?" asked Marcus, leaning forward.

"It's nothing really, - quite silly but Billy often – no it couldn't be him, he's such a sweetie in his own way –"

John, Marcus and Rachel all leaned forward expectantly. "What?" said Marcus again.

"Well there is this patron – he's been coming to me for a few years now – Billy the Kid – his real name is William something – let me think, William Rutherford, but we always call him Billy the Kid. He has a bad case of infatuation for me, but he's really very sweet, not violent at all."

Marcus scribbled frantically in his notebook. "We may go and have a chat with this person," he said, "Can you think of anyone else?"

"No," replied Lisa Kent. "I don't even think you should go and talk to Billy. I don't understand why you think this is connected to me." All her bravado and swagger had now disappeared; she huddled in her chair, looking distressed. The security guard, Davis, walked into the room and frowned at the FBI agents.

"Are these people upsetting you, Miss Kent?" he asked. "Do you want me to remove them?" and he glared at Rachel, as he spoke. Marcus raised an eyebrow, as if to challenge the security guard, but Rachel rose to her feet.

"If you could come down to the Federal building, Miss Kent, we would like to go over some things with you there."

Lisa Kent huddled further into the sofa. "Why would you want me to come with you?" she asked, bewildered. "I haven't done anything wrong. I don't know what you want me to tell you."

Rachel sighed and took a step towards her, and the burly security guard then took a step towards Rachel. Both Marcus and John stood up, the situation becoming suddenly tense.

"I don't suspect you of anything," Rachel explained. "But I think you do know more than you think, unconsciously. Each of the women killed either worked for you, or used to work for you. The one's that were still working for you, were both about to leave, and move on. In the killer's eyes, they were abandoning you – setting up in opposition of you. He's killing to protect you, to protect your business. Please come with us. We can talk in more detail back at the office. Marcus and John will go and talk to William Rutherford, but we will need a few more names as well."

Davis snorted and walked around to stand in front of his employer. "She don't go with you unless she wants to," he said bluntly.

John bit his bottom lip reflectively, and then walked over to stand next to Rachel.

"If Agent Burke wants to question Miss Kent, I think you'd better step aside, and let her," he said flatly. The big man sneered at John, and laughed looking at him up and down, in an insolent manner.

"You gunna make me?" he sneered. "You might get your pretty clothes dirty!"

John smiled softly, and his eyes darkened, he suddenly looked dangerous.

Marcus loomed up on the other side of him, flashing his badge once again.

"Come on man," he said. "We are all on the same side here. We are trying to get to the bottom of this."

Lisa Kent seemed to shake herself out of her frozen state, and stood up swiftly.

"Of course, I'm sorry. Davis, thank you for your championing of me, but these people are trying to solve these horrible murders, not damage or injure me in anyway. Of course I'll come with you." She turned to Rachel, and smiled.

"Can I sit in the back of the car with you?" she asked John, once again mistress of the situation.

John raised an eyebrow, and turned to leave, following Lisa Kent to the door. She turned back towards him, and smiled in an apologetic manner.

"I'm sorry about Davis," she said. "He gets very protective toward me."

John stopped suddenly and Rachel, who was behind him, bumped into him.

"What the…" she said, then Lisa's words sunk in, and she spun around, looking at the security guard, who glared belligerently back at her.

John looked at the guard and back at Rachel. "Well?" he said, "Shall we take him in for questioning too?"

Rachel shook her head slowly. "No," she said "Not now."

John raised an eyebrow and looked at her. "Protective towards her – isn't that what we are looking for?"

"Yes, but never mind now," she said, and putting her hands in John's back, gave him a little push. "Well, get going," she muttered to him.

"You don't want to question him?" he asked with a nod of his head, in the security guard's direction.

"Not at the moment," she said, and kept pushing at John, till he followed Lisa Kent and Marcus out to the car. "I will get George to do a more thorough check on the computer first."

"Of all the people I don't understand," John muttered, so only Rachel could hear, "You are at the top of the list."

She smiled sweetly up at him. "Well, thank goodness for that," she murmured back to him. "I don't think I want to be so shallow as to be understood by you."

He spun around, and she followed his broad shoulders out of the building, and could tell, by the stiffness in his back exactly how offended he was by her remark.

They all piled into the car, and Rachel very quickly got into the front passenger seat, making sure that John had no choice but to sit next to Lisa Kent in the back.

The whole way back to headquarters, she could feel his eyes burning holes in the back of her head.

Back in her office, with Bailey sitting in, she began questioning Lisa Kent again, taking her back over the past weeks, almost moment by moment, trying to find a thread that she could run with. It was an exhausting and long process, and both she and Lisa were emotionally drained by the time she was ready to drive Lisa back to the brothel.

Bailey told Marcus to accompany them, as John was busy chasing down information on another case. Rachel glanced over as she escorted Lisa to the elevator, and frowned at the sight of Donna and John sitting together and laughing. Donna was her friend but seeing her constantly leaning over John somehow set her teeth on edge.

Lisa's eyes followed Rachel's gaze and she turned to her and smiled.  
"Looks like lover boy over there has all the females fawning over him," she said. Rachel stiffened, and gave a disparaging sniff.

"Not all the females," she said abruptly.

Lisa looked at her from under downcast eyelashes, and smiled again.


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

When she returned to the control center, Bailey was waiting for her, impatient to hear her thoughts, and to fill her in on the next step to be taken.

"George has crawled all over the security guard's background, and while we have found some interesting things, there's nothing that jumps out and says serial killer, either," he said, by way of greeting.

"Well, there wouldn't be, would there?" she asked quietly, flicking though the file Bailey handed her. "I mean, not too many of them do advertise. I think maybe I'd like to talk to him, though."

John was lounging in one of the big chairs, and he rolled his eyes, and pulled a face as she came closer.

"Now you'd like to talk to him," he said. "Not when we could have brought him with us earlier, but now."

"Yes," she said, glaring at him. "Earlier I wanted to talk to Lisa Kent. Now I want to speak to …Bradley Davis."

"And you couldn't have brought him back with you?" came John's terse remark.

"Well, I didn't know then, that I would want to speak to him," she snapped at him.

"Yes, well you don't know much, obviously," he threw back at her.

"And you do, I suppose?" came her challenge.

Bailey and George exchanged glances, and George pulled a face, while Bailey tried hard not to smile.

"John get a car from the pool, and pick this guy up. Perhaps you'd better go too, Rachel."

She gave a huge pained sigh, and turned on her heels, to stalk out of the control center, leaving John to drag himself out of the chair and send a heated look in Bailey's direction.

"If we don't think he's guilty, and she just wants to question him, I don't understand why we didn't bring him in earlier!" he muttered at Bailey, as he walked up the stairs. "I know she's just doing this to torture me!"

George couldn't help the small laugh that escaped but luckily John was out of earshot by then.

"Poor John," he said to Bailey, smiling in amusement. "He really doesn't like going to that place at all. I wish you would pretend you wanted him to go in there undercover. Just to see the look on his face."

Bailey laughed as well. "Perhaps, if we get bored a little later, I will," he said.

John moodily threw the car into gear, and accelerated out of the underground garage, barely missing a pedestrian who was unwisely attempting to cross the road in front of him.

Rachel grabbed the door, and held on. "Do you have to take your filthy temper out on some poor innocent passerby?"

"My temper!" he glared back at her. "There is nothing wrong with My Temper!"

The car fishtailed a little, and then settled down. John accelerated through a yellow light, ignoring the frantic honking of a taxi, attempting a turn, and Rachel turned to him furiously.

"This is just stupid!" she said. "Stop the car and I'll drive – you are being childish now!"

John ignored her, continuing down the road, glancing now and then in the rear vision mirror, but he slowed the car fractionally. The rest of the journey was conducted in total silence.

There was no parking space available in front of the brothel, in fact John had to do a U turn and park on the opposite side of the road. Rachel got out of the car immediately it came to a halt, and walked briskly across the road, without waiting for John.

Davis was not sitting at his usual desk when they entered the building, but another guard was lazily flicking through the newspaper, and looked up when they walked in. He looked them both up and down and raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"Is Bradley Davis around?" asked John, and the guard looked at him again, his eyes sweeping up and down his body with a knowing sneer.

"Most of the guys who come through this door want to see one of the girls," he said. "You swing the other way then?"

John grinned engagingly back at the security guard. "Gosh yes," he said in a falsely bright manner, before flashing his FBI identity. "And your name is?"

The man closed the newspaper slowly, and stood up.

"Davis is in there," he said, all insolence gone from his voice. He pointed at the door behind him. John nodded his thanks; the guard edged away from his desk, and opened the door for him. Rachel followed John into the reception room, which was occupied again now, several men were sitting or standing around, looking through the window at what was happening behind the one way mirror, to a bound and naked girl; the guard was standing unobtrusively by the door.

They swung around to glare at the newcomers, and then particularly at Rachel, who began to feel uncomfortable under the weight of their collective stares.

John walked forward and asked the guard to come with them, heroically keeping his eyes from straying into the scene being played out behind the mirror; and after a surly grunt, Davis followed them back out to the entry hall. Rachel was pleased to leave the other room, gladly closing the doors on the hungry looks of the other men.

"We would like you to come with us, to answer some questions," John said formally. Davis looked at him and then at Rachel, and turned away.

"I've dun nothin," he said bluntly. "Why do you want to talk to me? I told you already what I know!"

Rachel smiled placatingly. "We just want to ask you some questions," she said.

John began walking towards the door, indicating that Davis accompany him, but the guard turned around and stared the desk in bewilderment.

"Where's Harry?" he asked. "Harry's supposed to be sitting here. He's not supposed to leave this area without anyone being here! Well?" and he turned back to glare at John, as if he were expecting John to produce Harry from thin air.

"I have to find Harry," he said again, "I can't leave Miss Lisa without someone here. It's not like Harry not to be here!"

"Maybe Harry's gone to the bathroom," said John impatiently. "Let's go."

But the guard kept looking around, almost agitated. "Neither of us leaves this area without the other one being here, not once it's opened for business for the night."

John looked at his watch, and sighed. "Go and check then, he'll be around here somewhere." And as Davis walked up the corridor a little, and opened the door to another room, he looked over at Rachel, and frowned again.

"I had hoped to be able to knock off early tonight," he grumbled. "Nate and I were going to catch the game together."

"Well isn't it a shame that catching a serial killer interferes with your social life,"

snapped Rachel, very unsympathetic.

"At Least I have a social life," he muttered, and she glared at him, feeling the anger and hurt of the last few months sweep over her again.

She wandered around behind the desk, and began flicking through the newspaper that the guard Harry had been reading, then picking it up, and looking at the magazine that was hidden underneath.

"John," she said, swallowing her feelings. "Look at this?"

John walked over to look at the grisly pictures on the front of the R rated magazine.

"It's a snuff mag," he said, screwing his nose in disdain. "I will never understand some people's taste."

"It's pretty sick," said Rachel, flicking through the magazine. "There are articles on sex and murder, - it's revolting." She replaced the magazine, and then picked it up again, and looked underneath. She stared at the desk, until John moved around to stand next to her.

"What?" he said.

"There are some pictures here," she said slowly. "Pictures of … my God, they are pictures of the dead women. Not the police pictures either. Pictures that only the murderer could have taken…"

She turned to look up at him with wide questioning eyes. Then they both turned and walked down the hall to where the other security guard had disappeared.

At the same time, John grabbed his cell phone, and dialed frantically. Rachel was right behind him, and followed him into the room that Davis had entered.

"Seaver, has anyone left the building in the last five minutes?" he said into his phone. He listened for a moment; then said "Could you come in here, and get Robinson to watch both exits. Also get him to ring and get some patrol cars around here. We may need back-up."

He turned to Rachel, who was heading for another door in the corridor.

"Surveillance team – Seaver is coming in to help us search."

Rachel nodded, and pointed to the further door.

"That's where Lisa Kent has her office," she said.

Davis was sitting in a chair near the desk, and Lisa was sitting the other side of the desk, both of them very still. Rachel walked into the room looking questioningly at the pair sitting so stiffly, and John came in behind her, then they both spun around as the door was loudly slammed shut.

"Don't move," came the command, and out of the shadows, walked the other guard, Harry Debrowski, pointing the gun he was holding directly into John's face.

John immediately took a small sideways step, creating a space between himself and Rachel, and Debrowski's gun followed him, without faltering.

"I said Don't Move, Pig," came the command again, and John shrugged his shoulders, and took another small sideways step.

"It's o.k." John said, in a calm way, still sliding sideways and drawing the line of the gun towards himself, and forcing Debrowski to turn almost away from Rachel.

"Get over there," he yelled at Rachel, indicating the desk, and she made out to panic a little, and attempt to almost run across the small area, then catching John's eye, she pretended to trip and fell bodily into the security guard, knocking him sideways and a little off balance, which was all the opening that John needed.

He launched himself across the gap separating him from Debrowski, and grabbed the hand holding the gun. The two men struggled for a moment, Rachel ran out into the corridor to yell for the other FBI agent to hurry up, and heard the blast from the gun as it discharged. Her mouth leapt into her throat, she heard Lisa's slight scream, and rushed back into the room, to see both John and Debrowski on the floor.

She stood frozen to the spot, feeling the bite of sudden dread.

Seaver rushed into the room straight behind her, his gun drawn, and he stepped on Debrowski's gun hand, then bent down and removed the weapon. John climbed to his feet, and Rachel managed to release breath she hadn't realized she was holding until now.

Seaver and John placed handcuffs on the resisting man, and dragged him upright.

"I thought you'd been shot," she said, and he slanted a grin in her direction.

"No, but I think the painting on the wall took a hit," he said; then walking forward he thanked Seaver and asked him to take the prisoner to the car, and wait there.

Neither Lisa Kent nor Bradley Davis had moved, they both seemed stuck in their chairs. When the other security guard was led from the room, Lisa Kent finally stood up, and stared blankly at Rachel and John.

"I had no idea," she began, "I had no idea, I trusted Harry. He's worked for me for years and years!" and she began to cry a little.

"We will have some questions for you a little later," said Rachel. "But for now, we'll leave you to calm your patrons down, they must be wondering what's happening!"

She and John turned to followed Seaver and Debrowski out to the car. John turned to Rachel as they walked out onto the pavement.

"Thanks for understanding what I was trying to do in there," he said to her, and she shrugged her shoulders.

"I knew you would try and do something," she replied. "I knew that's why you were making him turn away from me. But I didn't have time to get my gun out, I thought he was going to shoot you. That was all I could think of doing."

"Well it worked," he said with another of his grins. "Would you have been upset if he'd shot me?"

"Yes," she replied truthfully, "The blood would have spattered all over my jacket, and I've just had it cleaned."

John laughed and climbed into the car.

"A good day's work," he said, as he started the ignition. "Bailey will be very very happy. We might get another pat on the head."

Rachel relaxed back against the seat of the car, then winced and leaned forward.

Her standard issue handcuffs were in her back pocket of her dress pants, and they dug into her. She pulled them out and put them in her jacket.


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

There was an atmosphere of relief in the control room, when they got back with their news. Bailey and John spent hours in the interview room, talking and listening to the guard at first deny, but then confess to the murders, with Rachel observing and making notes.

She finally collapsed in a chair in the control center next to George, who was trying out a program he had written, indulging herself with a large cup of instant coffee and a stale iced bun from the canteen.

"I thought you didn't like instant," George said to her, as he sat back in his chair.

"At this stage, anything hot and wet will be greatly appreciated," she said, not even pulling a face when she took a big sip. "I cannot believe what happened this afternoon. "

"Yes, I guess sometimes things just fall into place," said George. "It was lucky you had John with you. He's pretty good in a tight situation."

"I suppose you could say that," said Rachel, "But I didn't know what he was planning, and my heart was in my mouth the whole time, particularly when he dived across the room and went for the gun. I thought he was going to get killed. I thought he'd been shot!"

"Well, it's happened before," remarked George. "John seems to get in the way of the odd bullet, every now and then."

"Who's been shot?" asked Grace as she came down the steps.

"Nobody," replied George. "We were just discussing John's ability to be."

Grace looked at Rachel. "Is he all right?" she asked. "Congratulations by the way, on getting a result."

"I can't believe how it happened," repeated Rachel. "Right time, right place, for a change."

They looked up as Bailey and John came down the steps into the control room.

"Well, are we good, or are we good?" exclaimed Grace, with her special smile.

Bailey laughed. "We are good," he said. "There are two detectives from the APD on their way to pick up Debrowski, and then we can close the books on that one, thanks to Rachel."

John raised an eyebrow. "Thanks to Rachel? Oh yeah, her mumbo-jumbo really helped nail this guy," he muttered, but only loud enough for Rachel to hear properly.

She glared at him. "What do you mean by that?" she demanded, and the rest of the team all turned to look at them.

"Only that in the end he was caught by old fashioned police methods," said John, "with a whole lot of good luck thrown in."

Something deep inside Rachel began churning with rage.

"And what did you mean by mumbo-jumbo?" she asked, very quietly.

"Well you know, that hocus pocus stuff you do, seeing pictures in your head – all that type of up in the air stuff that didn't help nail this particular killer," he continued, in a very provocative manner, knowing she was touchy and trying to get a rise out of her

"Your arrogance is only equaled by your ignorance," she flashed back at him, feeling hurt and incredibly angry at his scoffing attitude. The black cloud was back, threatening to break over her with a storm of massive proportions.

Surprised by her reaction to his irreverent comment, John laughed at her, and it was as if he were deliberately stoking the fire now raging within her.

She began stewing internally, sure that the rush of anger to her face was visible to all. She was about to verbally rip into him, when two people came down the stairs.

"Hey is this what you guys do over here, sit around and drink coffee?" came the greeting from the first person, and John walked over to him, and shook his hand with a delighted smile.

"Hey Jeff," he said, "We do manage to catch the occasional criminal as well. What brings you down here?"

"We've come to collect our prisoner," said the second of the intruders, and John looked up into the eyes of his former fiancée. She walked down the few steps, to stand before him. Rachel noted sourly that she was wearing a black business suit, and she looked stunning.

"Anne," he said, but the smile had vanished from his face.

"John," she said, in a breathy voice, her eyes scrutinizing him. "It's been a while."

He nodded awkwardly, and edged away to where the male detective was now talking to Bailey. Rachel watched, still furious with John for his hurtful comment, as the woman put her hand on John's arm and turned him back toward her.

"You didn't say hello at the dinner the other night," she said to him, stepping closer and planting herself right in front of him. "I waited for you to come over. I need to see you, to talk to you." She was whispering, but Rachel was standing close enough to hear what was going on.

Grace walked forward to stand next to John, who had not responded.

"Hello Anne," she said. "Long time no see. I thought you'd gone to New York or somewhere."

The female detective dropped her hand from John's arm, and turned to Grace smiling widely, a smile that did not reach her eyes.

"Grace – how are you?" she said. "I had forgotten you came to work at the VCTF when John came over."

"Yes," said Grace brightly. "Have you met our Profiler? Rachel Burke, this is Anne Taylor. We all used to work together."

Rachel threw a look of extreme dislike at John, before smiling at Anne Taylor, and murmuring how pleased she was to meet her. Both Anne and Grace saw the look, Anne smiling wider, and Grace frowning a little in concern.

John grinned at her again, and she felt her anger boiling back to the surface. She excused herself, smiled at the male detective, whom she had met several times before, and ran up the stairs and back to her office, bumping into Donna on the way.

"Whoa," said Donna, nearly dropping the files she was carrying. "Where's the fire? – Oh Rachel are you busy? I need to talk to you about something."

She followed Rachel back to her office, shut the door, and then turned back to Rachel, frowning a little at the expression she saw on her face.

"Is anything wrong?" she asked her friend. "Has something upset you?"

Rachel shook her head, and took a deep breath. "Of course not," she said, stamping her feelings down hard. "We are all happy to have solved that case, before someone else got murdered. What's up?"

Donna flopped into the spare chair, and propped her chin in her hand.

"What would you think … Err… I've been asked out by a guy …It could be the start of something really special – I don't know whether to go there again…I really want to, but….I'm scared this guy could be really important to me…I'm rambling aren't I?" she laughed a little self-consciously. "You know you meet someone who is funny and kind, and so incredibly good looking and you start think maybe…."

Rachel nodded, and smiled at her friend. "Who has asked you out?" she said, and then her heart dropped as she realized who Donna was talking about.

Donna shook her head, a tender smile playing about her mouth, looked up at Rachel with shinning eyes.

"I'll tell you tomorrow, if it works out," she said. "I don't want to jinx anything. I guess I'm acting a little silly at the moment. Wish me luck" She stood, and walked out of the office, closing the door behind her, leaving Rachel steaming with anger and feeling almost betrayed, though why she was feeling hurt, she couldn't say.

Rachel walked out of her office, concentrating on breathing, trying to force the anger out of her system, trying to slow her rampaging pulse and wondering what had happened to make her feel this rage, to make her want to lash out and physically hurt John, so badly she could almost taste it. Then she saw him coming towards her, talking with Anne, who was laughing up at him and she ducked behind an office partition so she wouldn't have to speak to either of them. She waited till they passed, then fled to the ladies restroom, locking herself in a cubicle till the color died out of her cheeks and she felt she could breath normally and stop shaking.

Coming back to her office, she noticed that John was back at his desk, and sure enough, Donna was perched on the edge of it, talking earnestly to him. As she got closer she heard him speak.

"Well, have you decided yet?" he asked Donna quietly, a playful grin on his handsome face. "What about this special date? Are you game?"

Rachel spun on her heels and was about to walk away when George noticed her.

"Rachel," he called, "Come and have a look at this," so she took a breath, and turned back, a false smile firmly in place.

"It's just one of those silly email jokes," he said, "But I think it's funny," and he moved away so she could read the screen of his computer.

"Rachel doesn't do funny, remember?" said John, as quick as anything. "But Rachel is really good at being serious and solving crime with her superior mental abilities."

Both George and Donna frowned at him, but Rachel just stared, unable to think of anything to say. She knew he was trying to bait her, and it was working!

She spun around then, and walked straight out of the area; stopping to tell Bailey she was going home. Her head was hurting from the anger she was feeling. She would go home and try to relax, and forget about the obnoxious man who was making her life such misery at the moment.


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

Rachel found she couldn't relax; in fact the more she went over what had happened in the control center, the angrier she became. With her experience and intuition, she knew that what she was feeling was again, a buildup of ruthlessly and constantly suppressed emotions, stretching back to way beyond her time in jail, and compounded by it.

She also knew, somewhere deep in the recess of her mind, that she was teetering on the edge of sanity, but somehow she couldn't control herself anymore, that events had 'opened the door of her constraints' and the beast inside her had got free. She wasn't going to even try to cage her feelings anymore.

She was going to allow herself to emote and feel, and damn the consequences!

She glanced at the almost empty whiskey bottle, and frowned, surely it had been full, when she started drinking. The bottle of wine she had finished earlier had not been able to dull her anger and confusion. She was not a big drinker; she didn't usually like the taste of alcohol. She had discovered, however, that the taste improved, the more she drank.

And that her anger with John was still white-hot.

She was sick of having to tiptoe around his feelings, she was the one who had gone to jail, for heaven's sake – the one who had carried the heaviest burden, when Marks had made public his stupid claims that she had used her position to force John into a sexual relationship – God her friends at Quantico were still having a field day with that one.

Why he was being so, so childish, was completely beyond her.

The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. It was all very well for him to sneer at her, to make her the butt of his jokes, but when she turned it back on him, all he could do was sulk.

She grabbed the bottle of Scotch, and poured more into her glass, slopping in some lemonade, to top it up, but not much. She threw back her head, and swallowed the drink in one gulp, and slammed her glass back down on the coffee table.

"How many is that?" she thought, "I don't feel drunk, but it must be lots –" and she started to laugh to herself.

"Well I don't care," she thought, "I can do what I like."

She settled back onto the sofa, and reached for the whiskey bottle again, but stopped.

"I can do what I like," she thought to herself again. "And he can't talk to me like that!"

From nowhere came the prick of tears, she wasn't one for crying and this sign of weakness fuelled her anger.

"I will not become a self-pitying fool," she thought. "And why am I being so stupid tonight – it's not as if I care what he and Donna might be doing."

She poured herself another drink, and then curled up on the sofa, and picked up the remote for the television, flicking it on to see what was on, and got caught by the end of a movie, in which the heroine was declaring her undying passion for her handsome hero. She watched with critical interest, for some time, before deciding that the handsome hero was in fact a spineless wimp, and not all that good looking either, blonde men just didn't do it for her anymore.

She liked men with dark hair, and blue eyes, and engaging grins, and 'Oh God where did that come from?'

She hated men with dark hair, especially if they had blue eyes!

For a long time she stared at the screen, not really seeing anything; then jumped as her phone rang.

"Rachel?" came Donna's voice, and Rachel screwed up her face.

"I thought I'd call and see if you are O.K."

"Why wouldn't I be?" asked Rachel defensively, speaking carefully so as not to slur her words.

"Well you did have that argument with John – and storm off – I just wondered if you are all right."

Rachel sighed. "I'm fine," she said brightly, too brightly. "Just had dinner – I thought you were going out?"

"I am out," came the reply, "I'm calling you from the restaurant. We are worried about you."

Rachel felt the anger sweep back over her. "Well you can tell your dinner partner, not to worry, I am fine. And you and he can butt out of my life!" She went to slam the phone down, but stopped when she heard Donna's gasp of horror.

"What is your problem," Donna said, hurt "I thought you would be pleased if Michael and I got back together,"

"You and Michael?" whispered Rachel, "Michael is here in Atlanta? You are out with Michael?"

"Yes," said Donna, "He flew in this afternoon. We have been talking for a few weeks. What were you thinking? Rachel, were you thinking it was John?"

"No, of course not," lied Rachel, "I don't care what John does,"

"Obviously," said Donna. "Let me tell you something, John has been listening to me rave on about Michael for weeks. He was never interested in me – I think he was too busy trying to get your attention. He only ever treated me like a friend. But after listening to you two today, I don't know what to think. Are you all right? Do you want us to come over?"

"No, of course not," said Rachel again annunciating carefully. "I'm absolutely fine – I'm sorry I was a little curt, but I am angry with John, and I did think you were together – not that it would have bothered me, if you were, I just was, I mean, I don't care or anything … I was just so angry with him - …" She allowed her voice to tail off, not quite sure where her train of thought was going.

"Well, if you are sure," said Donna uncertainly, and in the background, Rachel could hear Michael's voice.

"Tell Michael hello from me, and I am glad you two are trying to sort out your problems," she said, a weight lifting off her chest. "I'll see you at work on Monday. Thanks for calling – and I am sorry about before."

Donna rang off, and Rachel lay back on the sofa, thinking about how foolish she should be feeling, but now only angrier with John, for making her think that he and Donna were an item, for all the things he had said and done to her, for being alive, basically. She sat and stewed and stewed, drinking the whiskey till the bottle was empty, and finally jumped up and grabbed her car keys, and put her jacket back on, ignoring the way the floor seemed to move when she stood up suddenly.

She had no idea if she should be driving or not after what she had been drinking, and was way too angry to care. She was going to confront John, and have this whole mess out, find out why he was being so off hand with her, so that she could get back to some sort of normal working relationship.

She very carefully locked her car, and concentrated on walking into the building and up the small flight of stairs, hanging on to the banister carefully, because for some reason her legs were feeling very wobbly, sucking like mad on a breath mint, to disguise the smell of alcohol.

She knocked on the door, all the time wondering what she was going to say, and then becoming even angrier with herself for feeling any hesitation.

John opened the door, his eyebrows rose when he saw her standing there

then he frowned. "Is there something wrong, - what are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," she replied, conscious of the awkward way they were standing in the corridor and trying hard not to sway. "Can I come in?"

He hesitated for a moment, and she felt her anger rise again.

"Of course you can," he said after a pause, and opened the door, stepping back to allow her access.

His apartment was reasonably neat, smaller than hers, but neatly furnished, with a large screen television and state of the art sound system dominating one corner of the main room.

She walked a few steps into the room, and spun around to face him, putting one hand on the door, to steady herself.

"I want to know why you are being such a … such a prick at work?" she demanded, and he took a slight step forward, narrowing his eyes, and frowning at her.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, angrily, "Today's little spat? Get over yourself Rachel, we had a little argument – no big deal."

"No big deal?" she yelled at him – "It is a big deal to me. You have done nothing but put me down since we started back. That crack today about my skill being pure luck was uncalled for." She took another step forward, till their bodies were almost touching, both of them angry now.

"You came here because of that one comment I made?" he said incredulously, inching closer, and glaring down at her.

"It's more than the comments you so childishly think are funny," she spat at him, "It's your whole puerile attitude. We just can't work together, and that's it!"

"Well, I wish you luck when you head back to Quantico," he said, turning away. "Good riddance – I don't think I've ever come across someone with such a bitchy nature."

She stood there for a long moment, his words seeping into her consciousness.

She took a deep breath; then fidgeting with something in her pocket, she walked after him.

"Did you call me a bitch?" she asked softly.

He turned back to look at her, and the fight went out of him.

"Oh Rachel, I'm sorry, don't lets argue anymore," he said. "You are right, I'm sorry if what I said today was offensive." He offered her a tentative smile.

She regarded him for a long moment, out of glittering grass green eyes, and took another deep breath, not saying anything, her fingers still playing around with something in her pocket.

"Look," he went on to say, "Sit down, I'll get you a drink – and we'll talk this out. I don't know what went wrong – but we were friends before, we can be friends again."

He turned away, and went into the kitchen, and Rachel sat down on his expensive leather sofa, wondering why his sudden kindness and maturity, was making her even angrier. It should be her that was saying all the right things, and defusing the situation, not him. Her fingers closed around the cold metal objects they had been playing with earlier, and she realized that they were her handcuffs, which she had shoved in the pocket of her jacket earlier in the day. She stared down at them pensively, and then back up at John.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asked again, leaning over the breakfast bar, and indicating a range of bottles in a cupboard he had opened.

She stood up in a swift motion, and shook her head, feeling sick and giddy all of a sudden.

"I need to use the bathroom," she blurted out, putting a hand over her mouth, and his eyes widened.

"In there," he said indicating, and she ran through the door, locking it behind her.

She closed the lid of the toilet, and sat on it, feeling the tears trickle down her cheeks, furious with herself, and not being able to stop. She heard him banging on the door, but ignored it, wiping her eyes with toilet paper, and then splashing water on her face, trying to stop her brain whirling in circles, wishing she hadn't drunk so much, and desperately trying to control her emotions. She needed to find the anger again, but it had mostly trickled away, vanquished by his smile, and the look of tenderness in his eyes, even when he was angry with her. And now he thought she was a bitch, and he was right, she was, but it hurt so deeply that the tears just kept sliding down her cheeks.

"Rachel, are you all right?" he called again, rattling the door. "What have you been drinking?"

She took a deep breath, and unlocked the door, averting her tear stained face and grabbing her keys off the bench.

"I shouldn't have come here, I'm sorry," she mumbled at him, and went to open the door, but he was there before her, leaning on it, closing it and blocking her escape. He put a hand under her chin, and tilted her face up to the light.

"Oh Rachel, you look terrible," he said softly, and bent down to wipe up a tear with his finger. She felt her eyes fill again, and turned away, trying to push past him, but he was immoveable.

"What's wrong?' he asked again softly, genuinely puzzled by her behavior. "You're not going anywhere for a while – you have been drinking, haven't you?"

She shrugged her shoulders, and tried to push him away again, but he took her arm, and pulled her over to the sofa. Her anger stirred again, she tried but couldn't pull away, he was much stronger than she.

"What ever is wrong, you are not driving anywhere tonight. Let me drive you home," he said, but she shook her head.

"I'm fine," she said again, trying to pull her arm free. "Let me go."

He let go of her arm then, but stood in front of her, and took her car keys out of her hand.

"I have no idea what has set you off tonight, Rachel, but you are not leaving here till you have sobered up. I don't know how you managed to drive here in the first place."

She tried to grab her keys back off him, but he was too tall, and held them up high, so she tried to kick him in the shins, but lost her balance, and fell back against him.

He grabbed her arm again, and pulled her into his bedroom, picking her up and dropping her on the bed, almost distastefully, she thought, her anger flaring again.

"Pervert," she said to him, and his eyes widened in astonishment.

"You wish," he said smiling slightly. "You can sleep here I'll be on the sofa. Don't try and leave, till you've had a sleep, or I might have to tie you to the bed. You are going to be so ashamed when you wake up, too," he said, turning to walk away.

She sat up, and threw one of the pillows at him, and he whirled around and came back to the bed, picking it up as he did so, and placing it back on the cover.

"Dammit Rachel, don't fight me," he said, almost wearily. "Just go to sleep, take your jacket off and your shoes, and go to sleep."

She kicked off her shoes obediently, and shrugged out of her jacket, lying back down, calling him to come closer.

"I'm sorry John," she whispered, "I'm sorry I came here, and I'm sorry that we argued."

He came closer, putting one hand on the brass headboard, and leaning over to hear what she was saying, and with a quick movement, completely at odds with her drunken state, she rolled over, and snapped one end of the handcuffs around his wrist and the other around the brass headboard, before he could do much more than blink at her.

He glared at her, and she wriggled out from under him, standing on the opposite side of the large bed, suddenly laughing at his expression.

"Now you can go to bed, like a good little boy," she told him. "And give me my keys."

"Unlock these damn things now," he yelled at her, his face darkening in anger, and she shook her head, but backed a little further away, just to make sure she was out of his reach. He started to reach towards his own suit jacket, which was thrown across the end of his bed, and she realized he was probably going to look for his own release key, so she darted in and grabbed the jacket, before he could reach it, laughing to herself, and swaying slightly.

"Now give me the car keys," she said to him, holding his jacket just out of reach. He sat down on the bed, twisting his arm, trying to wiggle free, and shook his head. She felt for the keys in his jacket pocket, and her fingers closed around his handcuffs.

"If you want them, they are in my pocket," he said, "You will have to come here and get them."

She walked around the bed, giving him a wide berth, and stared at him speculatively.

"If you won't give me the keys, I'll … I'll - well I'll do something," she threatened. "I'll take your car," and headed out of the room, but stopped when she saw him smile.

"I have those keys on me as well," he said. "You'll just have to come here and get them."

"All right," she whispered, in a defeated tone, shoulders slumping "I'll set you free."

And she walked towards him, sitting down on the bed next to him, and pretending to unlock the handcuffs.

"This seems stuck," she said, and he reached up with his free hand to help her, and before he knew what she intended, she had grabbed his free hand, and handcuffed that with his own handcuffs, to the other side of the bed. He was now effectively helpless, and yelled furiously at her, when he realized what she had done.

She stood up, and looked down at him, half sitting half lying on the bed, unable to move, and she smiled a slow smile.

"Now I can get the keys, and you can't do anything about it," she informed him smugly. "In fact, I could do whatever I wanted to you, and you couldn't stop me."

"Rachel, this isn't funny, let me go now," he yelled at her, tugging furiously on the restraints, and she leant down over him, placing a finger over his mouth.

"Shush," she whispered, "Don't struggle, you'll hurt yourself." With a sudden movement, she pushed him back till he was lying on the pillows. She placed one knee on the bed, and then climbed up straddling him, virtually sitting on top of him, her hands feeling for his shirt pocket, but also feeling the sculptured muscles of his body, through the thin material. For a moment she forgot what she was looking for, allowing her hands to roam over his chest, and feeling the wonder of him, beneath her. He stopped yelling also, staring up at her, his eyes only inches from hers, his breathing quickened, in time with hers.

For a long time she stayed like that, bent over, her body lying atop his, and suddenly she was feeling his body everywhere as it touched against hers, his thigh pushing against hers, his chest touching hers, his breath mingling with hers, and she could feel the heat coming from him. She swallowed, and then thought, hey, she had made an absolute fool of herself already, what was a bit more foolish behavior going to hurt. Besides, she had already paid the price for seducing this man, without actually having any fun – her inhibitions vanished.

She drew her hands up to the top of his shirt, and slowly undid the button, ignoring his distress, then she let them drift down to the second button, and undid that one as well.

"Rachel," he said his voice hoarse, "What are you doing? Don't …"

Her hands were now at the third button, and she leaned back over him, her breasts squashing down on his chest, till her mouth was only inches from his.

"I'm doing what I've wanted to do for a long time," she whispered to him, and nibbled at his bottom lip. He twisted his head away from her, but she increased the pressure of her body on his, and he turned back into her kiss.

"You are going to be so sorry, when you wake up tomorrow, and realize what you have done," he said softly, but she shook her head, and kissed him again, lingeringly.

"Don't talk," she whispered, "Just lie there, and let me do this," and when he protested again, she bit his bottom lip gently, and shushed him. "If you keep talking, I might have to find something to gag you with," she threatened, and he glared up at her, blue sparks shooting out of his eyes.

"Maybe that brothel woman had the right idea," she whispered softly.

She sat up again, feeling his desire flare as she sat back on his groin, her hands finding the last button of his shirt, and she pulled it open and stared down at his naked chest, quite unable to stop her hands from freely roaming over the masculine beauty of his body. She felt him shudder and gasp for breath, as she buried her face in his skin, and began licking and kissing her way from his navel up to his mouth.

He was squirming under her, and she marveled at the feeling of his muscles contracting under his velvet smooth skin.

"Rachel," he whispered again, "Let me go – don't do this, you'll regret it tomorrow, when you've sobered up." But her mouth was setting fires under his skin, and his breathing was more like panting now.

She sat back up suddenly, gazing down at him, and smiled sweetly.

"Oh John," she said, "You're right," and she slid off the bed, leaving him there, half naked and helpless, shaking with either anger or desire, even he couldn't tell, and left the room.

"Come back here," he roared at her, wrenching violently at the restraints, trying to bend the brass bar on the headboard. "Let me go!"

He heard her moving around in the other room, and the sound of glasses clinking together, and she appeared back in the doorway, holding a bottle of whiskey, and two glasses.

"I've decided that being sober is no fun, I'm having another drink - and I think you should have one too. Maybe then you wouldn't be so uptight." She smiled down at him, appreciating the sight of his half naked body, heaving with emotion, and his blue eyes glinting midnight dark. "You don't mind if I drink your whiskey, do you?"

He was truly angry now, beyond speech, and she laughed softly again, and poured herself a drink, downing it in one gulp, then unbuttoned her own shirt, slowly, watching his eyes as she allowed it to drift off her shoulders, and fall to the floor. She undid the zip on her jeans, and pulled them down ever so slowly, till they too were on the floor, and she stood there in her bra and knickers, still looking into his eyes, smiling as she saw the anger in them flare into desire.

"Oh," she sighed, "Men are so easy!"

In a swift movement, she unhooked her bra, and that joined her clothes on the floor. She stood and smiled into John's eyes, listening to the catch in his breathing.

She picked up the other glass, and poured whiskey into it, and then climbed back onto the bed, sitting across the top of his thighs, and held the glass up to his lips. He turned his head away, and she spilled some of the whiskey across his chin, and down his neck.

"Oops," she laughed, and then lay down across his body, and began licking up the alcohol, ignoring his muffled protests.

She leaned forward and slowly rubbed her breasts across his chest, becoming aroused by the sensation, her own breathing kicking up a notch.

She sat back again, and put the glass on the bedside cupboard, and allowed her hands to trail down his chest, drifting lower, till she came to his belt. Still looking into the smoky depths of his eyes, she began, ever so slowly, to undo it, and his eyes widened and went dark, and she felt him suck in a breath in shock, as she began pulling his zip down slowly, notch by notch.

"Rachel," he moaned "Please don't do this."

But she placed on finger on his lips again. "Shush," she whispered, "Shush, everything will be all right. I want to – I've wanted to for a long time."

"Not like this," he said, "Please Rachel, not like this. I've wanted to for a long time too, but not like this." He turned his head away again, and closed his eyes, biting his bottom lip in agitation, and she leant forward again, again rubbing her breasts across his chest.

"You want me, I can feel it," she whispered, "Even like this, you want me."

"Rachel, its rape," he said, looking up at her with real distress in his expressive blue eyes.

She sat back up, solemnly considering his words.

For a moment she stared at him, stricken, then smiled. "No," she said firmly, "Rape is about violence, domination and power. This is about sex." And she leaned forward, kissing him again.

"I haven't had any for a long time," she told him in drunken confidentiality, "And Kate told me that it was great with you – I've been jealous ever since."

"Kate said that?" he asked, momentarily distracted. "Well, with Kate it was consensual. If you let me go, I'll be able to hold you, and it would be much more enjoyable, for us both."

She considered his words with drunken solemnity, then smiled again, and began sliding his trousers down over his hips.

"But this is so much fun," she whispered. "And you look so very sexy, handcuffed like that to the bed."

"Let me make love to you, Rachel," he whispered, "I'll make it great for you, too."

His voice broke a little, and he bit down hard on his bottom lip again, in agitation.

She stopped and looked back into his dark, dark eyes. From nowhere, came the sting of tears, her own eyes filling suddenly. "Promise?" she asked softly, "Promise me you will."

She reached over, and found the key, and unlocked his right hand, then his left. He rubbed one wrist with his other hand, but apart from that, didn't move, staring at her almost in disbelief.

They stayed that way for a long time inches apart, staring into each other's soul, then his arms came sweeping around her, and he was kissing her back, his hands roaming over her body, and before she knew it, they were both naked, skin to skin, and he was no longer beneath her, but on top, and she was spinning out of control, her own breath coming in sobs.

He began trailing kisses up her body, and she arched up to meet him, and the tears still leaked out of the corner of her eyes, but now they were tears of passion, and her breath came in gasps, and the feeling of exquisite bliss caused her body to shudder helplessly, under the skilful roaming of his hands and fingers.

Then he was inside her, his face inches from hers, his eyes looking into hers and beyond, into her soul and he filled all her vision, and they were both taken to the edge, where she spiraled out of control, before plunging headlong into ecstasy.


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

She came drifting back to consciousness gradually, the pain in her head caused her to open her eyes, screwed tight against the morning light that was streaming in from the window, and she grumpily wondered why the light was coming in from the wrong side of her room, and how the window had moved in the night.

She moved her head on the pillow, and stretched out her arms above her head, and turned over slightly onto her side, trying to recapture sleep, but her knee came in contact with a warm, hairy masculine leg, and she froze in panic. She opened her eyes fully, and found herself looking straight into John's face, only inches from her own, relaxed in sleep, his long dark eyelashes sweeping his cheekbones, his mouth slightly parted, looking absurdly young.

For a long and agonizing moment she lay there, and then she winced in pain as memories of her behavior swept over her. A tsunami of embarrassment broke over her body; she could feel the heat rising, almost from her toes, to encompass her whole being.

She wanted to die, literally, and not only from the pain in her head.

She cringed as John stirred slightly, and turned over, away from her to lie on his stomach, and then his deep steady breathing resumed, and she let her own breath out, unaware that she had been holding it, even.

The bed had moved slightly, as John rolled over, and a slight clinking came from above her head. She looked up, and saw the two sets of handcuffs, still attached to the rail of the headboard, and she cringed again.

Then her hangover really hit her, and the pain in her head increased dramatically, and she knew she was going to be sick.

As quietly as she could, she slid out of the bed, then realized she was naked, so she cast around for something to cover herself with – in the end she grabbed John's shirt, and threw it on, and ran for the bathroom.

Once the door was shut and locked, she barely made it before she threw up violently, and it seemed to her, endlessly, till there was nothing left in her stomach, and even then she still threw up, till she was aching and sore, and dry retching. Then she slid down on the wonderfully cold tiles, and rested her head against the wall.

After a long time, she rose to her feet, trembling a little, and after checking there was a towel handy, she staggered into the shower, turning on the water as hard as she could, and standing under the streaming water, concentrating on breathing and not thinking.

Eventually she turned the taps off, and emerged, wrapping herself in the towel, and stared into the mirror.

"You idiot," she told her pale, wet haired, heavy eyed reflection. "What on earth are you going to do now?"

She opened the door, and peeked back into the bedroom; then slid as quietly as she could over to the bed, to try and retrieve her clothes. She found most of her belongings, but couldn't find her bra, or one shoe, and John moved restlessly again, pushing down the sheet that was covering him, and flinging one arm up, so it was by his head.

She turned and looked at him, and caught her breath. He was naked as well, lying on his stomach with his face turned towards her, and the sheet precariously draped over one hip, barely covering, but not quite, his lower back and she stopped for a moment in silent appreciation, she hadn't realized he had such a great ass. She allowed her eyes to travel down, from his wide shoulders, past his narrowing waist to his backside, and nodded to herself. She noticed for the first time, the scar on his right shoulder, and remembered hearing how he had been shot and wounded several years before. She also noted with concern the still black bruise in the middle of his back from his time in the canal the other day, fading slightly, but still large.

Then with a guilty start, she backed out of the room, as quietly as she could, throwing on her clothes, haphazardly, and went to the door, before realizing that she didn't have her keys. This time, she was even quieter, despite the fact that her headache was coming back with a vengeance, but when she tiptoed into the bedroom, he opened his eyes, and smiled at her.

"Looking for these?" he asked quietly, sitting up and holding her keys. "Or perhaps this?" and produced her bra, which had been caught underneath him.

She felt the color sweep into her cheeks, and goggled at him.

Eventually she heaved a great sigh, and lowered her eyes.

"I didn't know you were awake," she whispered.

"You made a lot of noise, throwing up," he said sympathetically. "Do you feel better now?"

"No," she said, and reached out for her keys, unable to meet his eyes.

"Rachel," he said slowly, rubbing his hand over his face, and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, "We have to talk about this, and we have to do it now. Don't run away."

She nodded, and lowering her eyes away from his nakedness, she turned around and walked into the other room, to sink into the depths of the leather lounge. She laid her head down on the padded armrest, and closed her eyes for a moment, she felt beyond terrible, but knew she had to stay and face him now.

She heard him go into the bathroom, and then she heard the shower start. The pounding in her head was worse, she wondered in a dazed sort of way if she might have some terrible thing wrong with her brain – it would explain her behavior of last night, and surely this pain couldn't just be from a hangover! It was more, much much more.

She heard him come out of the bathroom, and still left her eyes closed. She wondered if she was dying, it certainly felt like it, and prayed that she wouldn't throw up again, although the feeling in her stomach wasn't promising.

Then she felt the sofa dip slightly, and smelt his aftershave, so she opened her eyes slowly and he was sitting next to her, looking refreshed, achingly handsome, and concerned and so she closed them straight away.

It took a lot of will power for her to sit up straight, and not cry out in pain.

"I'm sorry John," was all she could come up with, as lame as it was. "I was drunk, and stupid, and I'm so sorry."

She opened one eye, and watched him bite his top lip as he watched her, but he didn't say anything.

She looked at him a bit longer, but he wasn't going to make it easy for her.

"What do you want me to say?" she asked bitterly. "That I made a complete fool of myself? Yes, I did. I won't blame you if you never want to speak to me again. All I can say is I'm sorry. I don't know what happened or why I acted the way I did." And several tears slowly leaked out of the corner of her eyes, and began sliding down her cheeks.

He nodded then, and reached over to grab some tissues out of a box on the side table, handing them to her in silence, watching as she wiped her cheeks, and then blew her nose, very gently so as not to stoke up the fire in her head.

"I am concerned on two counts," he finally said, taking her hands in one of his, and making her look at him.

"One is that you came here last night, and obviously drove after you had drunk a substantial amount of alcohol. You realize how dangerous that is."

She looked down at their hands, and nodded mutely.

"The other is that we can't let this interfere with work, with our working relationship," he said, stroking the back of her hand absent-mindedly. "So let's get all this embarrassment behind us now – o.k."

"Stop being so nice to me, John," she said, pulling her hands free. "You are entitled to yell and scream, and rant and rave. I just hope you don't, because I think my head is going to fall off."

He eyed her cautiously, watching the pallor creeping back into her cheeks.

She noted the sympathy in his eyes, and cringed inside again. "I think I'm dying," she whispered brokenly. "I think I'm going to die."

"I think you had better get back into bed," he said. "I'll get you some pain killers; I don't think it's a good idea for you to drive home now."

"No, I should go," she murmured, "Just let me close my eyes for a minute. – What are you doing?"

He picked her up in his arms, and carried her back into the bedroom.

"Get undressed, and I'll be back in a moment," he said, in a tone that brooked no defiance. She was too sick not to do what he said. In seconds she had crawled under the covers, and then he was back, propping her up so she could swallow the tablets – though how long they would stay down was anybody's guess.

He put a damp facecloth on the bedside cupboard, and indicated a large bowl, should she need to throw up, then closed the curtains, and left the room. She lay in his bed, breathing in his scent, and closed her eyes, willing herself to hurry up and die!

***

The telephone ringing woke her finally, the room was now quite dark, and she lay still for a long time too scared to move, just waiting for the pain to hit, but nothing happened, instead she just felt warm and comfortable. Then she heard a masculine voice, speaking in low tones, and she remembered where she was, and why. Rolling over, she saw that it was nearly 7.30 p.m., by the bedside clock, and she stared in disbelief at the illuminated numbers, thinking they must be wrong. The muffled voice stopped, and she edged into a sitting position, still waiting for the hammer to fall, but in fact she felt really good, if a little shaky, and realized that she needed to use the bathroom again, but this time because her bladder was cramping and full, and not to throw up.

She sat on the edge of the bed for a while, remembering violently vomiting, and John making her drink lots of water just so she could throw up some more, it seemed. She looked down at herself, and found she was wearing a plain white tee shirt, and then remembered John giving it to her, so she would be more comfortable to sleep, after about the third time she had thrown up on herself. She heaved a sigh and reached deep inside of herself to find the courage to go out and face him.

She opened the bedroom door, and saw John lying on the black leather sofa, watching television. He looked up when she opened the door, and she smiled a little nervously, and slid into the bathroom, closing the door.

When she came out, several minutes later, he watched her solemnly, through his lashes, and she stood there for a moment, then came and sat down in the chair opposite him.

"I feel so ashamed," she said in a low voice. "Can you ever forgive me?"

He sucked on his bottom lip for a moment, and then tilted his head on one side.

"For what? Spilling whiskey in my bed? Or throwing up on my good shirt?"

She screwed up her face as he spoke, and then opened her eyes to look at him again. She saw the smile on his face, and realized he was joking.

"For everything," she said. "For getting so drunk that I had to spend the day in your bed. Thank you for looking after me."

He nodded, and stood up. "How are you feeling now?" he asked, walking towards the kitchen.

"Actually I feel much better, thanks," she said. "Though I probably don't deserve to."

"I'm glad," he said, smiling at last. "I was getting worried. I've never seen anyone throw up so much. I was going to ring Grace, if you didn't stop."

"Thank God you didn't," she said, drawing her legs up on the chair, and tucking them under her. "How would you have explained that."?

This time he gave a little laugh.

"I don't know, I'd have thought of something. I hope the phone didn't wake you."

"Well, yes it did, but I feel so much better, if a little light headed," she replied, leaning back against the backrest. "I can't believe it's so late – I'd better get going home."

"I'll still drive you," he said, in a tone that brooked no defiance. "I'll bring your car back in the morning."

She nodded and slanted another sideways look at him. "If you are sure, thanks," she said, standing up and walking towards the bedroom. "Do you mind if I borrow this tee shirt? I'll wash it."

She sat next to him and watched his face as he drove her back to her place, wondering what was going to happen now – if they could ever resume some sort of normal working relationship, or if by her stupidity, she had destroyed any chance of that.


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

It took every bit of her courage, to get ready for work on Monday morning. She drank more than her usual 2 cups of coffee, and went all out with her make-up, something she usually didn't bother with.

She had spent Sunday curled up on her sofa, trying to watch television, something she didn't do very often, and trying to block from her mind, images of her shocking behavior of the day and previous night. She deliberately tried not to think of what had happened between her and John, shying away from memories that stained her cheeks with embarrassment, and made her heart pound.

She knew that all the anger she had been harboring, since her arrest, had somehow been unleashed in her, and maybe that had something to do with her actions, anger and confusion, and even loneliness – and that she had lashed out at John, but she didn't know why. She still didn't understand how his casual comments in the operations room had so angered her, and disturbed the huge emotional baggage that she was carrying! She was the profiler – and now she knew, she had to profile herself, with complete honesty, if she was to ever understand what had happened, and to prevent herself from exploding like that again.

She parked in the underground garage, and walked over towards the elevator, then froze as she saw John getting out of his car, and coming towards her. They reached the elevator together, and she gritted her teeth, as the doors opened.

The doors closed with a hiss, and John immediately turned to look at her.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked, smiling a little, but not sarcastically.

"Yes, thank you," she replied, then heaved a big sigh. "John – I have to…"

"Don't apologize to me again," he said. "Let's just forget it. I'm sorry too – my behavior wasn't much better than yours. If we start tiptoeing around each other's feelings at work, everyone will know something happened between us."

She nodded in agreement, still unable to look him in the eyes.

"So I think you should just start being rude and dismissive of everything I say, and things will seem like normal," he continued, and the lift door opened onto their floor, as her mouth dropped open in anger.

"I am NOT rude and dismissive of everything you say," retorted Rachel, as Bailey and George walked out of Grace's office.

"Oh please, are you two still at it?" said Bailey. "We've got work to do today, I thought having a whole weekend off for a change, would have made one of you smile at least."

"John, I've got those records you wanted," said George, and he and John headed off down the corridor, and Bailey walked back into his office, and Rachel stood there, smiling to herself – John's words in the elevator had been just right. Things were back to normal – well almost, and she headed back into her own office, to see what had happened over the two-day break.

She turned on her computer, and began to assemble her thoughts, staring at her screen saver, when Bailey indicated through the window that he wanted her in the control room.

She ran down the steps behind him, taking a deep breath, as she saw the rest of the team already seated around the big conference table. Averting her eyes, she sat down in the nearest empty seat, between George and Marcus, and studiously avoided looking in John's direction.

"Well, this is another success," began Bailey, smiling widely. "Things couldn't have worked out better, if I'd written a script. In the short time we've been back, we have solved several murders and a kidnapping. The suits at HQ are very happy with us, at the moment. – That being said, I've just had notification from the Police in Orlando that they believe they have a serial killer on the loose. Three young boys have been killed in the last three months, all sexually abused. I am heading out there in a moment, and Marcus is coming with me. John, you have reports to write up and are due in court this afternoon. Rachel likewise. I'll be back tonight, and see if I think we need to fly the rest of the team out there. John, you've been there recently, do you remember anything about this place?"

Bailey had spread a map out on the table, and he reached out to circle the area that the bodies had been found, and John reached out also, and placed his hand on the map, looking to read what was written on it, and the sleeve of his immaculately pressed soft blue shirt rode up a little.

Grace leaned forward and grabbed his hand, and turned it palm up. John looked at her in surprise, almost but not quite snatching his hand back, but Grace held on tightly, and pushed the cuff of his shirt up a higher to expose a little of his forearm.

"What on earth happened to you?" she asked, and everybody in the room stared at the ugly bruise that circled John's wrist. Rachel stared, along with the others, suddenly she felt faint with horror, as she realized what had caused that bruise. She felt the heat and color rise in her cheeks, and stayed perfectly still, hoping that no one would look at her, because she knew that embarrassment and guilt were written all over her face for all to read.

John, to his credit, did not look in her direction. He stared down at his own wrist for a long moment, then smiled and looked back up at Grace.

"That's what happened when that paramedic pulled me over the edge of the canal," he said finally. "It's faded heaps."

Grace continued to frown. "If that has faded," she said ominously, "then it must have been horrible when it first happened. Does it hurt?"

John pulled his hand out of her grasp, and pulled the sleeve of his shirt back down, making sure the other one did not ride up as he did so.

"No, it doesn't hurt," he said. "I forgot it was there, it's no big deal Grace," And he turned to Bailey, and began talking about the new case.

Eventually the team dispersed, Bailey and Marcus to catch the jet, and the rest to their respective desks. John risked a glance at Rachel, but she was staring at the ground, and would not look at him. She picked up her files, and made her way back to her office.

Once back there, she turned on her computer, and stared blankly at the screen, and then with a decisive suddenness got up and walked across the corridor, and into Grace's office. She shut the door behind her, and Grace looked up, frowning a little, when she saw Rachel's expression.

"What's going on?" she asked, in her brusque manner.

Rachel dropped her eyes, and began to shake.

"You were right," she said, not looking at Grace. "I did something really stupid, and now have to live with the consequences. I think I'm ready to talk to that counselor, the one Sam recommended."

Grace nodded, and reached into her desk. "This is the number – give her a call, she is really good. And I think it will help you. Do you want to talk to me about it?"

Rachel looked up at her friend then back down at the table. She sighed again.

"There is someone else involved," she said. "I did something stupid and involved another member of the staff. Oh Grace, I feel so bad."

"By someone else, do you mean John?" asked Grace, and Rachel's eyes flew up to Grace's, and her cheeks colored.

"How did you know?" she asked, then bit her lip.

"You just told me," replied Grace, "But anyone can see there is an attraction between you guys."

"An attraction!" said Rachel, firing up suddenly. "There is no attraction – " but she stopped short, and dropped her eyes again.

"Oh Grace," she said, and tears welled up in her eyes again. "I've made such an idiot of myself."

Grace stood up and came around to where Rachel was sitting, to put her arms around her and give her a hug.

"You are not superwoman," she said. "You went through a shocking time. Everyone needs a little help now and then. Go talk to this counselor. She will be able to help you. And whatever is between you and John – well he's not the type to hold a grudge. He'll get over it."

"He might," said Rachel tearfully, "But I don't think I will ever forgive myself for what I did. And any relationship I might have had in the future, with John, well that won't ever be happening now. And I can't blame him, either." And she began to cry in earnest.

Grace didn't say anything; she hugged Rachel again, and then sat, waiting for the storm to pass. Finally Rachel looked up at Grace, and her sobbing slowed and eventually stopped.

"I…" she began, "I can't seem to stop this stupid crying," she said. "I am not the crying type, I never cry."

"Go and see this psychologist," said Grace. "I'm pulling a few strings, and getting you a consult today."

When Rachel tried to protest, Grace overruled her. She made Rachel sit while she rang and made an urgent appointment with the psychologist, then sent her into the bathroom to wash the tear stains off her face.

"You can see Dr Saddington at 3 this afternoon. She's setting aside a couple of hours for you." Grace told her. "Now do you want me to tell Bailey, or are you going to?"

Rachel returned to her office, and began typing up her report, trying to lose herself in the mundane aspects of her work, the endless form filling and report writing, but she didn't want to break down again, especially at work, so when Donna came in, she gladly handed over her notes, and told Donna she was leaving early. It was a relief to leave and head for home, but it was also a relief to have finally admitted that perhaps she needed help to overcome what had happened to her. And now the decision had been taken out of her hands by Grace, it was a relief to just go along with it, and not fight or try to be strong anymore.

As she drove away FBI building, she heaved a huge sigh.

Everyday, for nearly two weeks, Rachel spoke to her counselor, and attended a daily workshop running self-help programs, that had been recommended. She did not go back to the VCTF, Bailey had rung and told her to take as long as she needed, and also that he was glad she was sorting things out, he had been very worried about her.

She spent the time re-learning many things that she had forgotten, but mostly learning how to be kind to herself, and finding her inner peace again, after months of feeling lost.

Grace rang her nearly every evening, to find out how she was coping, her mother and best friend from back in Boulder rang often as well to make sure she was well, and even Sam Waters had rung to encourage her. Donna and Grace had kept her up to date with what was happening, the team had managed to track down and arrest a man for the killing of three little boys, and at the moment was bogged down in a murder that had happened much closer to home, in Atlanta, so for a change were not flying all over the country, sleeping in motels and keeping weird hours.

She had spent the day pampering, she treated herself to a facial, had her legs waxed, her hair trimmed and styled again, and finally a pedicure and manicure. It had been a long time since she had bothered. Now she was sitting cross-legged on the floor of her apartment, with a box of chocolates opened, sipping on a really good Australian white wine, and talking to her Mother long distance. She had decided to return to work on the following Monday, and was determined to enjoy her last 3 days of freedom.

"I can't wait for you to get here," she was saying to her Mother, about her impending visit "You haven't seen my apartment yet, and there is plenty of room. I can show you the city, Mom it's really beautiful!"

She listened to her mother's reply, and was distracted by someone knocking.

"Got to go Mom, someone's at the door," she said, "Bye – love you." And rose to her feet, wiping her chocolate covered fingers on the side of her jeans.

She opened the door, and then took a deep breath of shock – staring at her visitor with hugely surprised eyes.

John, who was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, smiled down at her. She goggled back at him. He was wearing a plain white tee shirt, tucked into well-worn jeans, the casual look suited him so much, she almost couldn't breathe.

"I thought I'd call past and see how you are," he said, and smiled at her, his special smile, the one that lit up his whole face.

"I'm – good," she said, after a pause, still frozen in position, still staring up at him, with incredulous eyes. She wasn't sure if she was ready to face him yet, embarrassment started somewhere near her toes, and began winding its heat through her body.

"Are you busy?" he asked, peering around her, but making no move to straighten up. "Can I come in? I bring a peace offering."

Rachel took a deep breath. She moved slightly, to one side and he straightened up, unfolding his arms as he did so, and producing a bottle of champagne.

"I thought we could have a drink, or," and he paused for effect "if you prefer – we could play?" and held out his other hand. A pair of handcuffs dangled from his finger.

She made a choking sound, and he stepped forward, into her apartment, and placed the handcuffs in her hands. And he stared to laugh.

After a long moment, she smiled, then she began to laugh also, and then it was all gone, the awkwardness and embarrassment dissolved.

He took another step towards her, the laughter slowly dying off his face, and caught her hands in his.

"Rachel," he said. "I've missed you. I missed you for all those horrible weeks you were wrongly imprisoned, and I've missed you again, these last two weeks. I want to be friends – I want to be more than friends."

She looked down at his hands, clasped over hers, then up into his beautiful blue eyes. She was standing so close to him, that she could smell his obviously expensive after shave, and see a muscle jumping in his closely shaven cheek. She suddenly realized that he was nervous, that he was stepping outside of his comfort zone, wondering what her reaction would be, and something inside of her melted.

She took a deep breath, and snapped one end of the handcuffs over her own wrist, and the other over his.

"I hope you've got the key," she said, and walked back into her apartment, pulling him with her.

The End


End file.
